


A Love Like This (Could Raze A Thousand Cities)

by Just_Abstract_Thought



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Regency, Attempted Werewolf Courting, BAMF Stiles, But it's a fantasy setting, Close to regency but not exactly?, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, F/F, F/M, I love that tag, Just for a minute there, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mating Rituals, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Stiles Stilinski, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Questionable Anatomy, Scenting, So I cut myself a break, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Unreliable Narrator, Werewolf Courting, characters are OOC, sorry - Freeform, tags and rating will change, that's better, the slowest burn, we'll get there eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-02-04 13:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18605098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Abstract_Thought/pseuds/Just_Abstract_Thought
Summary: Following the untimely death of his older sister, Alpha werewolf Derek Hale makes the decision to abandon his life of safety and leisure to lead the fight against the Argents. His originally noble intentions go awry, however, after Derek encounters a mysterious, unconscious young human who is as undeniably dangerous as he is undeniably Derek's.Following years of unwanted propositions and courtships, male Omega emissary Stiles Stilinski is elated at the idea of a vacation. Unfortunately, his hopes for an easy getaway are quickly dashed by a series of increasingly embarrassing diplomatic blunders, the wosrt of which leaves Stiles at the mercy of a (clearly) deranged werewolf who claims to be his mate. Go figure.Or, the cross-cultural disaster couple that is Stiles and Derek.





	1. The Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you so much for reading, don't forget to bookmark, kudos, and comment!  
> I may not reply, but they bring a smile to my face all the same.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: After looking over my earlier chapter drafts, I realized there were some inconsistencies I needed to iron out before I continued the story. I will be updating chapters 2-4 following this, and hopefully all current chapters will be up-to-date by the end of the day. Thanks for your patience!

Derek watched as the battle raged around him.

 His armor was in disrepair, one shoulder strap dangerously close to snapping. Derek himself was uninjured mostly thanks to his accelerated healing, but his skin was still flecked with blood and fleshy bits of shrapnel from enemies and allies alike. Beneath his feet blood ran freely; it cleansed the streets of human sin, prepared it for Selene’s presence. These humans were… unfit for this land. They were dirty, selfish, disrespectful of the Goddess’s gifts, and so Derek and his army had been sent to rid them from the land.

A howl sounded from the north; the gate was secured. Derek felt some of his anxiety ease as he cut a path towards the temple; with nowhere for the hunters to run and no reinforcements nearby, the wolves had little chance of defeat.

Blood splashed on the white marble of the temple as Derek fought with a single-minded focus. He struck down as many men as possible, fighting with both sword and claws as he saw fit. He reeked of death, so much so that even non-shifters were beginning to take notice amidst the chaos. Death is a difficult scent to ignore.

The gore, so thick and pungent it was nearly tangible, enveloped every man, woman, and beast in the falling city of Ambroise. Derek fought his way into the fateful temple partially to secure the archer’s position in the belfry, but mostly to escape the smell. There were some wolves who would be thrown into a frenzy at the smell of blood and entrails; Derek was not one of them. Killing, outside of hunts at full shift, had never particularly appealed to the prince.

But as the Alpha entered the temple he stumbled, his instincts latching on to the faint but distinct scent of rainfall. Derek altered his path towards it, confused but unwilling to leave it unexamined. The scent was thick and heavy, like someone had lit a thousand candles in a very small room. Almost like a… Derek ignored his train of thought, the middle of a battle was no time for lustful wanderings of the mind.

He was both suspicious and perplexed; perhaps this was some kind of scheme the humans had concocted, to distract his men? If so, it was poorly executed. Had Derek not been an Alpha it was unlikely he would have even noticed it at all.

The temple was maned by a handful of hunters who proved to be an inadequate but irritating obstacle in Derek’s path; they refused to back down even when they were undeniably outmatched. The werewolf made short work of his opponents and soon found himself relatively unobstructed. Relatively, because the hunters seemed convinced that covering the damn tapestries in wolfsbane oil was somehow a defense. (Really it was just fucking annoying, and Derek had to keep stopping every few feet to brush that shit off his uniform.)

He followed the scent down a hallway and up a staircase before it became stronger, more pronounced. It smelled like the morning dew and ripe fall apples, with something electric underneath -an orchard after a lightning storm. It smelled like something he wanted.

Derek could feel himself growing restless, his wolf tugging at his control as he ventured deeper into the temple. The halls were empty, likely abandoned during the initial attack, but something was here, Derek could feel it (and he could sure as hell smell it), something that the fleeing humans had left behind. Derek stopped where the smell was strongest, in front of a large mahogany door. His nose twitched.

From inside he could hear a faint heartbeat, steady, but slow. A sudden, inexplicable anxiety passed over him, and Derek was struck with the overwhelming need to findprotectkeep. The long-forgotten impulse gave the Alpha a pause, but hesitance kills during a war, so Derek archived the distant thought of _home_ for later. His wolf, however, has no such concerns about war and self-preservation, and wanted to go inside the room as soon as possible right now why are we still waiting? It never did much good to fight his wolf, so Derek sighed and hefted the heavy plank out of its slot, leaning it soundlessly against the wall before slowly pulling open the door.

One, two… Derek swung into the room, broad shoulders filling out the doorway, but the heartbeat inside remained steady. The Alpha glanced around the barren bedroom, at the empty desk and barely smoldering fireplace; the only sign of inhabitance at all was the fully furnished oak bed, obscured by hanging silken drapes. It was cold, even for a werewolf, and Derek suppressed the urge to shift into his fur.

Finding no other visible entrances or exits, Derek moved towards the bed with less caution. The heartbeat had grown louder but no stronger, and the smell… the smell had grown from enticing to intoxicating. It smelled like omega, like warmth and safety… _like home_ , his wolf insisted. Derek growled.

The heartbeat spiked.

All stray thoughts vanished, and the werewolf hastily threw aside the drapes. The honey-crisped scent formerly contained by the curtains suddenly so pungent Derek was forced to breath through his mouth. Fuck, he could taste it like the sharp sweet bite of a lemon drop coating his tongue.

On the bed lay perhaps the strangest and most beautiful thing he had ever seen, a long limbed, porcelain skinned, bronze haired young man wrapped in a gauzy white cloak, a white cloth draped across the lower half of his face. The quick glance was enough to steal his breath away; the boy was ethereally beautiful in the near-darkness.

Selene help him, Derek wanted this creature with an intensity bordering on desperation. He had desired things before, he had lusted before, but never had he _needed_ like he did now. It was like a rut, ecstatic irrationality that coiled in his stomach, slithered up his spine to his brain, but without the syrupy haze. No, this was a clear, painful, desperate want. 

It wasn’t until Derek’s fangs retracted (when had they dropped?) and he had (somewhat) reigned in his wolf that he dared move at all. Derek gazed down for a moment, enthralled, before letting his eyes slide closed.

A small part of him was convinced that when he looked again the boy would be gone like the mischievous spirits of old, even though the heartbeat remained. No human, wolf, or fae had ever made his pine like this; creature on the bed had to be a spirit. No human could hold as still or smell as sweet as this stranger did.

Faintly, Derek remembered a tale that proclaimed if you caught a spirit, you could keep it. The details of the story were long forgotten, but the Alpha had clung onto that, the most important part. (The part of a story where the hero claimed his prize was always the most important part.) Hesitantly, the soldier sheathed his sword, reaching towards the prone figure with one arm dangling and one outstretched.

Slowly, so very slowly, his hand traveled the distance between them until Derek was grasping one smooth, porcelain ankle.

Triumphant, Derek let loose a howl, proud when his pack answered without fail.

The heartbeat slowed.

Frowning, the wolf maneuvered around the side of the bed, careful to keep a hand on the stranger at all times, until he was standing beside the boy’s head. The lower part of the boy’s face obscured by the rag was dampened with some concoction Derek had failed to notice over the pungency of the Omega’s scent. (Derek had no doubt that the stranger-spirit-creature-thing was an Omega) The soldier stooped to sniff at the rag before rearing back, barely containing a snarl.

The rag slapped quietly against the wall before Derek went to work clearing all traces of the sedative from the boy’s nose and mouth. The creature’s breathing improved as the poison dissipated, but somehow the smell, what Derek now assumed was the boy’s scent, seemed to swell.

The werewolf was confused. The boy’s skin was freezing, almost colder than the frigid air, so he couldn’t possibly be in heat. But his scent was going unchecked? Derek thought maybe the sedative had caused the boy’s body to release more hormones in order to attract help, but help had arrived and the scent hadn’t dissipated.

Derek ran two gentle fingers over the beauty’s neck glands, hidden just behind his ears, searching for answers. His fingers came back sticky and pink. Perplexed, Derek pulled up the boy’s sleeves to reveal his wrists. To the his horror, the Omega’s scent glands were puffy and raw, scabbed over in some places and still bleeding in others. The boy looked like a spirit but bled like a human. And no human would bring this pain unto themselves.

Someone had scrubbed the boy’s scent glands to keep them from closing, probably to keep his body producing pheromones once he was unconscious from the drugs. Gland scrubbing was a form of interrogational torture, yet someone had done it to this creature, then laid him out carefully on a bed. And then, as if that wasn’t bizarre enough, they had drugged the boy until his heart almost gave out. It didn't make sense. 

Why hurt the boy, then cloth him in fine silks? If someone wished him dead, it would be easier to slit the boy's neck and be done with it, instead of leaving him here like a sacrifice. 

 _A sacrifice..._ Derek mused. That made a little more sense. Perhaps the Omega had been tortured in an effort to weaken them, leaving them vulnerable to... something. 

At that though Derek was hit by a wave of fury strong enough to have him sprouting claws and chops. It didn't matter why, he supposed, the humans had done what they did. It only mattered that it had been done at all. Someone had hurt this boy, badly. 

How dare those filthy fucking humans leave this… this gift, to die in an empty room alone, in pain. Omegas were sacred in his society, praised for their strong instincts and exceptional empathy. That any person, hunter or otherwise, would dare to violate the sanctity of Selene’s most favored creation was enough to stir the blood hunger inside of the wolf, but Derek forced himself to suppress his rage for the sake of the Omega. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to wake up out of a drug-induced sleep to an angry Alpha towering over him.

The hunters would receive theirs, Derek promised himself, but first he needed to secure his.

Dropping to his knees the Alpha cradled one injured wrist in his hands, bending down to swipe the flat of his tongue over the gland. The salty remnants of pain and the bitter taste of blood saved Derek from the effects of the boy’s pheromones, allowing him to methodically work through all four inflamed spots, both wrists and neck, until the cloyingly sweet smell dissipated. Once the scent had evened out into something less overwhelming, Derek carefully placed each newly healed appendage back on the bed.

As he examined the boy a sharp black line across their shoulder caught Derek’s eye and, thinking it was another injury, Derek pulled away the gauzy monstrosity of a shirt, baring the boy’s torso to his gaze.

The markings, however, turned out not to be an injury, but instead a series of vast tattoos which crept over the human’s shoulder and chest, continuing on below his waist. The markings were varied, some tribal with thick swirls while others were thin linear strokes. Objectively they were beautiful, but Derek knew them to be much more than pretty drawings. The human had been marked with the signs of magic. This boy, this beautiful creature, was no spirit of old, but an emissary.

Outside the sounds of battle had waned, the city close to falling. Derek grinned and rose to his feet, stripping himself of his outer armor; he would not need it. To discover a gift as rare and precious as an emissary, especially one in such a vulnerable state, was surely the workings of the Goddess as a reward for his armies’ work. His forces had Selene’s approval; their victory was assured.

Derek removed his tunic, scenting it vigorously. It was best if the Omega became used to his scent now, so the werewolf didn’t have to worry about adjusting him to it later. The boy, _his boy_ the wolf asserted, wore a strange undergarment beneath the voluminous white fabric, a kind of lengthy silk trouser laced up the sides, too intricate to be anything other than ceremonial.

 _So the boy was to be married_ Derek contemplated. How fitting, that the humans had sought to hand off this creature to one of their own, seemingly against the boy’s will, but had instead left him gift-wrapped for a wolf. For a Hale. There was a horrible irony there that Derek appreciated very much.

Once the human was wrapped inside the Alpha’s shirt, Derek gathered the sleeping boy in his arms, letting him rest his head on the his chest. His human’s heartbeat was steady and strong, as it should be. His mate-to-be was undeniably formidable if he could recover from near death so fast. It likely wouldn’t be long until he awoke, and then would begin the real challenge. Even a Goddess gifted creature had a mind of its own which needed swaying.

But the Alpha was not worried; his human was powerful and smart, it would not take him long to realize that Derek was a worthy mate. Content, the werewolf nuzzled his boy’s hair, spreading just a bit more of his scent before making his way back onto the streets. (No one would question his claim, but it never hurt to be thorough.)

Outside the city was quiet, the last of the fighting being handled out by the gates. Derek could feel his pack deep in his chest, the thrum of ever-present life that had been entrusted to him. One of the bonds pulsed as Isaac rounded a corner, feet splashing through puddles of reddened water.

The younger werewolf fell into step beside his Alpha, eyeing the bundle in Derek’s arms.

Isaac curiously examined the sleeping human, breathing in deep lungful’s of their scent.

The Beta faltered, still scenting the air, “Is that an omega?”

“Yes.”

“How did you-”

“I found him like this in the southern belfry. He is a gift from Selene,” Derek informed the younger soldier.

“He? You found a male omega?”

“He has the markings of an emissary.”

“Holy shit,” Isaac muttered, “The war is ours then?”

“Yes.”

The blond fell silent, momentarily stunned over the news of their new addition. No pack had been able to boast an omega emissary, much less a male omega emissary, in decades. And yet here was one, hidden away by the humans inside a hunters’ city.

“The humans will not take lightly to the Omega’s capture,” Isaac warned carefully.

“It doesn’t matter. I find it unlikely that he will wish to return to them given the state I found him in, and they will lose any and all claim once he becomes my mate.”

The Beta choked on air, “Mate? You intend to… is he…?”

“Yes.”

Derek could feel the other pack bonds flaring to life, concerned by Isaac’s shock. He sent what he hoped to be a reassuring push (but was more likely a punch of “calm the fuck down”) their way.

“Gather the troops for departure, our business here is finished,” the Alpha ordered.

Isaac nodded, casting one last glance at the Goddess Gift before taking off towards the Northern Wall. The pack would want to know every possible detail once he arrived.

Derek gazed down the sleeping boy in his arms, “I pray you are as fearsome as I imagine you to be, my mate, for we are destined to build worlds together. But that is for later. For now, you sleep.”


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few things are cleared up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who left comments and Kudos, and I'm so sorry for the late (and short) update. I've been struggling with wicked writers block, especially with the tone and direction I want to take this. If anyone has suggestions about what they'd like to see, I'd be happy to receive any feedback! Again, thanks so much for reading, and enjoy

A Belated Introduction

Stiles Stilinski was not what anyone would call an easy individual

In fact, in his home city of Beacon he had gained such a strong reputation for causing trouble that his father had sent him off to their sister city of Ambroise to reside with the their allies, the Argent’s, for a time. Looking back, Stiles could admit that his straight up refusal to entertain suitors was a little extreme, but he would protest with his dying breath that it wasn’t completely his fault; his viziers were chronically incompetent. Stiles had complained to his father that the only requirements the viziers set for suitors seeking his hand were “has money” and “is breathing.” As evidence, Stiles presented the numerous crusty old Betas and Alphas (some of whom gave Stiles questions about the “is breathing” requirement) demanding to see the young emissary. His father had just glared at his only son and asked Stiles to please, let him take a bath in peace.

But Stiles resilience hadn’t really become a problem until the younger, more aggressive suitors had begun to trickle in. The older ones could be deterred with a few harsh words. The younger suitors, however, tended to need much more… forceful forms of persuasion. The King could ignore a few butt-hurt Alphas, he could not, however, ignore Stiles sending an up and coming Alpha by the name of Maxwell Whitworth flying out the library window. And so, Stiles had been shipped off to the Argents in the hopes that he would “knock it the fuck off”, in the words of Professor Harris.

Stiles had been delighted with his punishment, as his half-brother Scott McCall had very recently married the youngest Argent princess and hadn’t been to visit in over a year. Stiles had deeply missed his oldest friend, so he considered a chance to visit the Alpha and his new mate a godsend.

Unfortunately for Stiles, who’s other main reason for supporting his exile (“It’s not an exile Stiles, it’s a diplomacy trip”) was a break from the daily barrage of unwanted marriage proposal, leaving Beacon behind did not mean leaving behind his eligibility. This was proven to the omega the day of his arrival, when the oldest Argent prince had taken one look at his “ethereal beauty” and fainted. The Argent family, with the exception of one very disgusted looking Gerard Argent, had found the reaction charming, and encouraged the prince to immediately pursue a courtship.

That endorsement (which had even been supported by Scott, the traitor) was the main reason Stiles found himself playing “Avoid Carl” for the duration of his visit, with questionable success.

Carl was, without a doubt, the most oblivious, infuriating, and idiotic Alpha in a long and illustrious history of oblivious, infuriating, and idiotic Alphas. Stiles, who was naturally as subtle as a brick through a window, somehow found himself unable to make his disinterest obvious within the confines of diplomacy. The emissary did everything he could think of to rid himself of Carl's affections, but for the first time in his life Stiles was unable to overcome an Alpha's stubbornness. He was forced to abandon all pretenses of diplomatic politeness around week five, after Carl had attempted to initiate a mate bond with him during a state meeting and had left with a nasty black eye instead.

But what Stiles lacked in subtlety, Carl made up for with pure, unadulterated stupidity. Stiles was refusing to go on a romantic picnic? He was probably just feeling overwhelmed. Stiles told him to fuck off a cliff? He was nearing his cycle. Stiles attacked Carl with a letter opener? He was checking to see if his prospective mate had good reflexes. Stiles made a voodoo doll of Carl to try and kill him? He was testing the Alpha’s determination.

Carl’s ability to rationalize Stile’s actions was baffling, and by the time Stiles was summoned by Beacon the omega was more than willing to return to the world of traditional courting.

But then, in some giant cosmic joke on Stiles, a week before the emissary was scheduled to return home a war broke out. Apparently, the Hale territories had declared war on the Argents under the claims that Princess Kate Argent, who until that time had been the Argent diplomat in the region, had killed Crown Princess Laura Hale in cold blood. The Argents had, of course, denied the claim. Stiles, having met Kate before, was not as convinced of her innocence.

The emissary wisely chose to keep these doubts to himself however, especially after he was informed that due to blockades on several of Ambroise’s key trade routes his stay with the Argents would be extended indefinitely. Stiles had set the message on fire in a fit of rage, locked himself inside his room, and refused to let anyone but Scott in. That night at dinner Stiles stabbed a fork into Carl’s thigh. (Carl had claimed it was a “test of strength”. It was not.)

So, in summary: Carl wanted Stiles, Stiles wanted to become a hermit somewhere very remote, the Argents wanted a war, and the Hales wanted revenge. This brings us to the present, where the Argents are getting their war, the Hales are getting revenge, Stiles is getting a surprise, and Carl… well Carl is trying his hardest to understand just what the hell is going on.  

~~~~


	3. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is awake, and he is less than pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently today is just a day of inspiration for me, so here's another chapter, unbetad, because here we die like men; surrounded by our own grammatical errors and dangling participles. Thanks again to everyone who took time out of their day to read this, and as always I'm happy to hear any critiques or suggestions. Enjoy!

Stiles woke up with a boner, a fever, and a raging headache.

The combination was extremely unpleasant, and was likely being exacerbated by six or seven blankets the Omega was buried under. (Not the boner, obviously, the blankets weren’t exacerbating that. It died pretty quickly after Stiles woke up anyway. Probably because of the fever… The other stuff, however, felt infinitely worse without proper air circulation.) The emissary flicked his wrist upwards, waiting for the cool rush of sweet, sweet freedom.

Nothing.

Stiles frowned from his position face down in a pillow and tried again. Nothing. His magic fluttered weakly somewhere in his chest but refused to manifest. Stiles groaned and initiated a plan B: the frustrating task of wriggling free of his blanket prison. It was slow going, but after two minutes of straight flailing Stiles managed to free one arm.

Triumphant, the omega reached up to grasp the headboard, ready to shuffle to victory when something heavy clamped down on his shoulder.

“Is that you Carl? Because if it is, I swear to fucking God, I’m going to put a dessert fork through your eye. Is this another one of your dumb-ass ideas? What’s this supposed to be, a fucking nest?”

Stiles waited for the nervous babbling, maybe some awkward foot shuffling, any one of Carl’s usual habits in the face of the omega’s rage. Instead, the stranger (decidedly not Carl) laughed, a low rumble of amusement.

“Stop struggling, your body is still trying to recover,” the stranger advised.

The emissary was instantly suspicious, especially since his now-free nostrils were picking up on a strangely Alpha scent. Instead of trying to free himself, Stiles rerouted his energy into flipping onto his back; he was starting to feel smothered between the blankets caging him in and the pillow in his face. He was instantly hit with Alpha-musk, a not unpleasant mix of a cedar tree and a thunderstorm, that was distinctly different than Carl’s “koi fish pond” smell.

The stranger removed their arm as Stiles squirmed, allowing the Omega to make himself more comfortable before engaging him in conversation. Stiles was grateful for their patience, because it took him a few minutes to sit up, another couple of minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, and a few minutes after that for his nose to get used to the potency of the other’s scent. (Stiles kind of wanted to roll around in it, like maybe curl back up under the blankets until the Alpha joined him and then maybe… gross, no, just no. That is not where this was going.)

Stiles briefly wondered about his location, until the stranger stooped into his line of vision, and nope, no way, Stiles was dead. Somehow Stiles had died and gone to heaven, and God had sent this glorious angel to receive him. The angel was ridiculously broad, with wide shoulders, rounded pecs, lickable abs accented by a dark happy trail, and a face like God himself had carved it (more evidence towards Stiles death theory).

The man-stranger-angel was visibly unimpressed by Stiles’ mute leering, cocking one eyebrow in question and wow, those were some impressive eyebrows. Stiles had to resist the urge to reach out and pet them, like they were some kind of giant furry caterpillars. 

To Stiles’ dismay, the furry caterpillars took their leave with the gorgeous stranger, who was slowly backing away from the bed. (The Omega almost wanted to let out a little whine of distress, which was both irrational and wildly inappropriate in this situation. Stiles didn't know this guy, he shouldn't want to be anywhere near him.) It wasn’t until after the Adonis was seated across the room that the Omega was able to tear his eyes away from their face (it was a really nice face okay), and holy motherfucking shit what the actual hell?

Stiles let out an embarrassing squeak of surprise and slung an arm over his closed eyes, for good measure.

“Um, hi. Do you want to maybe put some pants on? Not that you’re not… It’s just, that… well… I don’t know who you are… or what your name is… so maybe it would be more comfortable for everyone if you just, uh, covered that up for the moment?” Stiles suggested faintly

The stranger grunted in what Stiles hoped was an affirmation, and after a few moments the Omega heard the rustling of clothes.

“My apologies,” the stranger offered, “I… thought you would be less… intimidated if you saw I was weaponless?”

“Um, no, not really. Kind of the opposite actually.”

The guy was definitely an Alpha, that much was obvious, but no Alpha servant in their right mind would ever think it appropriate to unclothe themselves in the presence of the royal emissary. Unless…

“You’re not from Ambroise?” Stiles questioned.

The man stiffened, “No.”

“That makes more sense, where are you from exactly?”

“Is it important?” the Alpha asked.

“Not really,” Stiles conceded, “It’s just that most of the countries surrounding Ambroise are not pants-optional, is all.”

The man shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and Stiles could practically feel the awkwardness.

“I’m very sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’m not very familiar with Ambroise culture, it wasn’t my intention to offend-“

“Hey!” Stiles interrupted, already desperate to move on from the topic, “It’s fine. No harm done, right… uh, what’s your name again?”

“Derek.”

Stiles hummed, it was a fitting name for the Alpha.

“Well Derek, I’m Stiles, and these blankets are really, really heavy. So if you could maybe…?”

That got the Alpha to his feet, but instead of coming over to help Stiles out of the burrito inferno he began rummaging through a small chest to the left of the bed. Stiles eyes were drawn to the broad expanse of the Alpha's back, where an inky black tattoo (somewhere in the back of his mind a small ping of familiarity sounded) swirled over muscled shoulder blades, moving the human's gaze up and then around and then right back down until Stiles found himself staring at what had to be one of the finest asses in five kingdoms. The emissary suddenly found himself wishing he hadn't been so firm about the whole "must wear pants" thing.

The Omega guiltily averted his eyes as Derek turned around, hoping the Alpha hadn't felt him starring daggers at him. Thankfully Derek seemed unaware of the scrutiny, saying nothing about it as he approached the bed, a roll of clean bandages in hand. He sat himself gingerly on the edge of the bed before reaching for Stiles' unbundled arm in a silent demand. Stiles opened his mouth to protest, because bad touch boundaries existed even for hot Alphas, but was stopped short by the thick bandages wrapped around his wrists. Shit, something really had to be up with his magic for him not to notice that, like, at all. The emissary pulled at his spark, felt a twing in response, but otherwise, nothing. Something, Stiles realized, was very, very wrong.

“What happened to me?” Stiles asked, struggling to stay calm.

Derek grunted. “I was hoping you would be able to tell me.”

Stiles just nodded, not at all comforted by the Alpha’s response, and waited anxiously for Derek to remove the old bandages. They were directly over his scenting glands which, while alarming, shouldn’t be affecting his spark. Stiles wrenched his other arm out from under the covers, dismayed to find similar wrappings on both wrists. Damn this Alpha with his hot face and good smell and chiseled body for distracting him, the Omega obviously had bigger things to worry about.

“You’re healing well, that’s good,” Derek remarked, holding up Stiles’ wrist.

The Omega winced at the sight. His normally imperceptible gland slits were red and swollen, and he was positive that when Derek unwrapped his other wrist he would see the same thing. Shit, shit, shit. Where had he been last? Stiles wasn’t sure, he could only vaguely remember exiting the library with Scott and then nothing. Just blackness, until now.

 Sitting there, with Derek the half-naked Alpha tending to wounds he couldn’t remember acquiring, it occurred to Stiles very suddenly that he might not know where he was.

He couldn’t be at the Ambroise Castle, there any of his wounds would have been treated by the medeca in the infirmary. He wasn’t at Beacon Castle, he knew every structure there by heart. That pretty much exhausted his list of in-depth firsthand geographical knowledge, so where the hell was he? The strange tattoo on Derek’s back swam in his vision, and Stiles was seized with a sudden, chilling fear.

“Derek, what did you say your surname was again?” Stiles asked warily.

To Stiles growing concern, Derek remained silent as he finished one wrist and moved to start in on the other. The emissary scooted out of the Alpha’s reach, defiant.

“I demand that you answer me,” Stiles tried.

Derek looked up at him and damn, that was an impressive glare. The Omega felt the ridiculous urge to bare his throat, which, now that he thought about it, still felt weirdly warm? Something for later consideration, probably.

“Currently, you aren’t in a position to be making demands, little one.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the dismissal, bracing himself for a fight. Derek may be able to rock a sudden mood swing, but oh baby, he didn’t have shit on Stiles' hormonally hopped-up ass. His magic answered his trepidation with barely an eight of its usual strength, but the emissary would take what he could get. In true Alpha fashion, Derek seemed oblivious to the Omega’s plans, dropping his glare to try and reach for Stiles once again.

Stiles released the gathered magic in what should have been an explosion, but was instead a feeble wave. Fortunately, it was enough to throw Derek and his caterpillar eyebrows into the wardrobe, giving the Omega time to wrestle his way out of the bed and sprint to freedom.  

Stiles threw aside the unlocked door and darted out into the blinding sunlight, fully expecting the busy streets of a bustling city, or maybe even the green pastures of the farmlands.

Instead, he was greeted by nothing but blue. Lots and lots of blue. Around him people were yelling and hollering at each other to be heard over the wind and waves.

He was on a boat. In the water. With absolutely no land in sight. Which actually explained a lot of things, now that Stiles was thinking about it. His spark was tied to the earth, and so being on a boat far away from his power source obviously limited his abilities. Which is exactly why Stiles had never been on a boat, and had, up to this point, absolutely zero interest in changing that.

The omega could hear someone, probably Derek, approaching loudly from behind, and pulled hard on his inner reserves to conjure a knife. The resulting hunk of metal was dingy and malformed, but sharp enough to be of use. Stiles felt rather than saw the Alpha reach for him and willed himself not to tremble. This was going to fucking suck.

 

^^^^^^^^

Later, while an apologetic Isaac was seeing to his shoulder, Derek decided that his first official interaction with his mate could have gone worse. Yes, Stiles (Derek had run the name over in his head dozens of times, deciding that he liked it) had not responded well to his surprise relocation. In fact, he had returned to Derek’s room in a rage before Derek could even bring up the subject of mating, but otherwise it really had gone well. No one had been hurt (much) and his mate had shown a great amount of intelligence.

Stiles had waited to attack, gathering as much information as possible before making his escape. Generally anyone getting the drop on the wolf would have been humiliating, but with mates it was never that simple. The werewolf felt an odd sense of pride towards the Omega; his intended would be more than capable of defending their future pups.  It was still unclear to the werewolf why the emissary had surrendered once he exited the cabin, but Derek had to assume Stiles knew something he didn’t and had deemed the situation unwinnable.

Derek closed his eyes and leaned back against the dinning table. He would burn most of his dinner tonight as an offering to Selene, a thanks for her gifts of fortune. For his pack she had brought an easy victory against their foes, and for him she had brought a mate more striking than he could have ever imagined.

There had been a brief time, not long before the war, when Derek had considered taking Kate Argent as a mate. His wolf had rebelled at the thought, but his human side was drawn to her natural charisma and sensuality. Unsurprisingly his wolf had been right, and a week before Derek planned to initiate a formal courtship Kate had struck down his sister, Laura, in cold blood.

Laura… His chest ached just thinking about his fallen sibling, the Hale Kingdom’s crown princess and rightful Alpha. Laura would have made a wonderful leader, but now that duty had been passed onto Derek, along with the responsibility of avenging her death. Derek would have Kate Argent’s head, even if he had to burn her whole damn country down to get it.

Rage against his former lover settled into a familiar guilt over his role in the incident. It was only the knowledge that Kate would have killed Laura with or without his accidental help that kept him from despair. Still, somewhere deep down Derek knew that Kate’s treachery had been assisted by their relationship, and that maybe if he had been more wary Laura would still be alive.

The alpha found himself on his feet, brushing aside Isaac and making his way towards his cabin before he was fully conscious of his actions. Usually Derek would train when the guilt became too much, but this time… this time his wolf was demanding something else; they wanted to see the mate. Derek couldn’t agree more. Now that Stiles had been given time to mull over his new surroundings it was time to begin the courting.

Unfortunately, due to their current position in the middle of the ocean Derek found himself unable to produce a proper offering ( _a buck, large enough to feed an entire litter,_ his wolf advised), and decided to compromise by bringing Stiles a plate of the non-moldy bread and cheese. Wolf somewhat satisfied, Derek made his way to his cabin with the food in hand. The Alpha wolf knocked once, to be polite, but before he could even reach for the door handle a pale, mole covered hand shot through the wood, grasping the wolf by the throat and yanking him inside.


	4. The Interrogation (Or, Blatant Exposition)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Argents have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Somehow, I've managed to crank out another chapter! Inspiration hit me during my return flight from France, which led to a very heated whisper-argument between me and a suuuuuper cranky French woman over my laptop brightness, which was all the way down by the way! If you ever read this French Lady: fuck you. There was no need to get the flight attendant, that was embarrassing. Anyways, here's the new chapter!

“Let’s just go over this one more time….”

Carl nodded, shifting nervously under grandfather’s glare. He had been sitting in Gerard’s brutally uncomfortable guest chair for the past hour, going over the events of the “attack”. (Grandfather was insisting on calling it “the attack” instead of “the invasion”, even after Carl had pointed out that technically the city had been under siege for a day.)

“So you were unable to bond with the omega because…”

“Because I… I uh…” Carl stuttered.

“Because you…?”

“Because I couldn’t find him,” Carl mumbled, visibly ashame.

Gerard took a deep breath, trying to quell his frustration. The two had been at this for far too long, and the old man was having an increasingly hard time keeping calm.

“Right. And even though you were told what room he was in, you just..?”

“I forgot.”

Carl’s leg was beginning to cramp, but the young Alpha was too terrified of further upsetting his grandfather to mention it. His body was still sore from crawling through the emergency tunnels, and he hadn’t been able to visit the medcin before being called to conference with the patriarch.

At first Carl had been excited, he never been summoned before, but his grandfather had quickly made it clear he was only interested in Stiles’s disappearance. Poor, sweet, Omega Stiles, who was probably scared out of his mind on his own somewhere, without an Alpha to help him.

“I tried to find him, but the inv- the, uh, attack happened before I could, and I, I just thought that since Stiles is so on top of everything, you know, figuratively speaking, that he would already be on his way to the emergency exits,” Carl explained, desperate to make Grandfather understand that he hadn’t  _ meant  _ to abandon his prospective mate, it just happened

“You thought he would escape on his own. Even though he was asleep?” Gerard questioned tersely.

Carl blushed, but nodded, “I didn’t really think that it would be a problem-“

“You didn’t think being unconscious would make it difficult for him to escape?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean… I don’t know!” Carl cried.

A soft tutting sounded from the corner. Carl curled further into himself, an exercise in futility given the width of his shoulders, but a wise attempt to hide all the same.

(As a child Carl had been convinced that the scariest things in the universe were werewolves, a belief that had been perpetuated by stories told by his father and grandfather. It wasn’t until his twelfth birthday, his presentation party, that he had realized that there were much scarier things in the universe.

His aunt Kate had been the first omega he ever met, the secondary-gender being uncommon within the Argent bloodline, and she had quickly proven to be… confusing for the young Alpha. Her scent switched between the honey-floral tones of an omega to the brassy-earthen scent of an Alpha seemingly at random. Even worse, his aunt had no obvious Alpha, Omega, and even Beta traits, which absolutely baffled twelve-year-old Carl.

It wasn’t until later, when his mother pulled him aside to explain that Aunty Kate had a very special designation that Carl had started to understand. All children were considered intersex before their secondary-gender presented, but for some individuals their secondary-gender never presented at all. This concept had horrified young Carl, quickly surpassing werewolves as his number one fear. The thought of being stuck somewhere between genders was still, to this day, terrifying to the Alpha, though he had been taught never to show fear. (He was still working on that one.))

Kate Argent stood statuesque behind her father, her gaze fixed on the window. The woman was dressed in a black pantsuit today, likely feeling more Alpha after participating in the recent battle. After a moment of silence she sighed quietly and turned towards the two men.

“Nephew, I understand that your distress, but if you want to find your Omega again we need you to tell us exactly what happened up until the attack. You may have seen something useful without knowing it,” Kate reminded him, “Please Carl, one more time from the beginning,  **without** Father interrupting.”

Carl nodded shakily, but took a deep breath, racking his brain for any detail he may have missed.

“I uh, I was training with Ally and Josiah in the pit when, uh, when a servant came to get me. They brought me here, to talk to you,” Carl told his aunt once again, encouraged by her occasional nod, “You uh, you said that my, uh, my “determination payed off”, and that I going to get a mate. I told you about Stiles, that we were supposed to be mated, and you said you knew that. Then you told me that Stiles was waiting for me in… in, uh…. in a room, but that if I wanted to do the mating we’d have to do it while he was asleep because of his magic, and that we'd have the ceremony after? So I left to go find him, but I couldn’t remember which room you said, so I started checking every room, but there are a lot of rooms in the castle. I came across one servant but I didn’t want to ask him because he seemed really busy so I thought I’d just keep looking in all the rooms until I found Stiles but then the warning bells started and I got sca- worried, I, uh, got worried and went to find the emergency tunnels. I didn’t mean to leave Stiles, I just thought that because he’s so smart he’d just… magic himself awake, and I’d catch up with him at the summer house. I… I really never wanted to-”

“Thank you Carl,” Kate snapped.

Carl stopped talking immediately, bowing his head to his aunt in submission.

“Thank you Carl,” Kate said again, softer this time, “You can go now. I know how hard it must be for you not knowing where Stiles is, but we will find him, in time. Right now you just need to go rest, alright?”

Carl nodded, thanking his aunt and grandfather before making a hasty retreat from the room, grateful to be finished with the interaction.

Kate waited until Carl had closed the door before slamming her hands down on her Father’s desk, growling in frustration.

“Useless little ingrate,” she hissed, nails digging into the wood, “How the fuck did he manage to mess this up?”

Any semblance of the calm from before had vanished, replaced by blind rage. Gerard could do little but hum in agreement as his daughter fumed and ranted.

“We made it so fucking easy. All he had to do was walk fifty feet, open a door, and then find his own dick. And yet somehow, he couldn’t even manage that! Now we’ve missed our one chance to cure you, all because that idiot couldn’t figure out how to use his damn nose!”

“Now now Kate, we still have options,” Gerard tried. 

“Like what, Father?” Kate spat, “Find some other unbonded Omega emissary with enough power to perform necromancy? Stiles was our opportunity, he could have saved you, but because that little fuckwad nephew of mine couldn’t seal the deal, he’s gone!”

“And you’re certain he isn’t hiding out in the castle?” 

“I’ve combed every inch of this place, I even had the bloodhounds do a round, and they made a b-line for the road. He must have woken up during the attack and used the confusion to flee.”

Gerard considered this for a moment, pensive, “Well he couldn’t have gotten far without someone noticing, not with his scent glands stuck open.”

Kate laughed, verging on hysterical, “Well you never know Father, it seemed to slip by Carl. Motherfucking... God! How! How did this happen? We did everything! He was knocked out by the strongest sleeping drought we have, I spent an hour scrubbing open his scent glands, which was disgusting, so he couldn’t reject the bond, and then we both pointed Carl directly at him! And yet that fool still managed to mess it all up! How?”

“Kate dear, calm down, you’re solving nothing by-”

“There is nothing to solve!” Kate hissed, “The boy is gone. We have no way to track him, and without him, without the life-force-transference, you will die. Our only hope was to bind Stiles to Carl, and then use that bond to  _ make _ him perform the ceremony. No emissary in their right mind will do it willingly!”

“There is one option we haven’t-” 

Gerard was interrupted by a loud knock-knock-knock on the door, followed by the quiet entrance of his son.

“Christopher, hello. How are the repairs going?” the old man greeted mildly.

Chris eyed his sister’s panting form cautiously, well versed in the dangers of her more violent moods, before speaking “We’ve found something… interesting, about Stiles disappearance.”

That got Kate’s attention. She immediately turned her full focus onto her brother.

“Go on,” Gerard encouraged.

“While we were gathering the dead, a woman asked me for a word. She said she’d seen a young man wearing a white gown being carried out of the city by a Hale soldier sometimes towards the end of the attack. She thought it might be a kidnapped villager, the boy looked like he was around her son’s age, and to please keep an eye out for him during any skirmishes with the shifters.” 

Kate blinked once, twice, “Repeat that.” It was not a request.

Chris sighed, but began again, “While we were gathering the dead, a woman pulled me aside to tell me she had seen an unconscious young man in a white gown being carried out of the city by a Hale soldier during the attack, and to-”

“So Stiles didn’t leave by himself them, he was taken,” Gerard summarized, turning to his daughter. 

Kate's face did a strange series of motions, caught between elation at the new lead and fury that the Hales had once again impeded her plans. Gerard turned back to Chris, knowing she would likely be occupied by her inner turmoil for a moment. 

“Was there anything else?” 

“Uh, just one thing, about the soldier,” Chris offered, “the woman said he was tall, with black hair, and that he had some kind of swirling symbol on his neck.”

Kate hissed, her body automatically tensing into a defensive stance. The woman’s scent spiked violently, her body doing its best to let everyone know how DANGEROUS DANGEROUS ALPHA she was. Chris rolled his shoulders, trying to ease out some of the tension, but otherwise said nothing. 

“Kate, is there something…?” Gerard began, only to be cut off by another of Kate’s snarls. 

“Yes, there’s something,” she spat, “stupid fucking werewolves. Of course, of goddamned course it had to be him. Little runt just doesn’t know when to quit.”

“Who, Kate?” Chris growled, now equally irritated by his sister’s antics. 

“It was Hale. The soldier that took the boy, it was Derek Hale.” 

Both Gerard and Chris absorbed the news with distaste, but nothing compared to Kate’s visible revulsion. The woman snapped at them in impatience, moving restlessly towards the window. 

“Of all people, the baby Hale had to be the one to go and-” Kate froze, struck by a brilliant realization. 

Chris waited, anxious in the face of her silence, and was not at all comforted by the grin his sister was sporting when she looked back at them.

“Derek Hale has kidnapped a poor, defenseless Omega while attacking our city. This is perfect,” she murmured. 

Understanding dawned upon the two men, and after only a few seconds of consideration Gerard gave Kate a short nod.

“Well?” Kate prompted, “What are you waiting for Chris? Go send a missive to Sheriff Stilinski and the McCall Kingdom. I’m sure they’ll be just devastated to hear about Stiles abduction. And at the hands of the shifters as well! They may have been wary of our war before, Father, but this… this ought to sway them. All we have to do is wait, and they’ll bring the boy right back to us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, nothing stirs my creativity like feedback! I always enjoy seeing comments and kudos, they bring me life ;) (Side Note: Kate Argent is not evil in this story because she is intersex, she is evil because she is Kate Argent. We have all the love for LGBTQ and associates in this house. Okay, side note over.)


	5. An Important Concession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, you got me 'Just Sayin', I'm a lying liar who lies. You were right. My computer hasn't been broken for a few weeks, it's been broken for a couple months. And that old PC I've been using? It's not even mine, I gave it to my brother forever ago, so now I have to ask permission before I use it. If I have writer's block, and that's interrupting my updates, I'll let y'all know straight. And I don't moderate comments because I only want fluffy rainbows up on my work, I moderate comments because some people are creepy as hell, and say creepy stuff. Please, treat my decision online with the same respect you would treat them with were we to meet in person. But all shade aside, thank you to everyone who's left encouraging comments on this work. Y'all are my inspiration to keep it going, thank you so much! That passive aggressive rant was not at all directed towards you, promise.

Derek stared down at the furious Omega in equal parts astonishment, arousal, and terror. 

“So what’s the plan here, Derek Hale?” Stiles hissed, shoving the werewolf back against the door; the emissary was literally fuming, greenish-grey whisps of smoke curling off his shoulders. 

Derek growled in warning, but in lieu of submitting the Omega bared his teeth, hands still firmly clutching the Alpha’s collar. Instead of feeling belittled, Derek found the display of defiance bizarrely attractive. His body reacted accordingly, releasing a wave of hormones that had Stiles rearing back in disgust. 

The emissary glared, rubbing his nose, and Derek could feel a blush creeping up his neck. 

“Try something asshole, I dare you,” Stiles challenged. 

Derek looked at the angry Omega in befuddlement. Stiles was trapped, surrounded by werewolves in the middle of the sea, injured, with no idea of the Alpha’s capabilities or intentions, and yet he was threatening Derek with an earnest vengeance. Perhaps the worst part was that Derek, despite the situation, believed that if there was a fight Stiles had a chance of coming out on top. 

“No, I wasn’t…” Derek protested, “You just-”

“Oh, so it’s my fault that little Derek is all ready to go, then?” Stiles interjected, “Was it also my fault that you stripped naked and creepily watched me sleep for however long?”

Okay, that was fair. In hindsight putting on a mating display for the Omega during their first meeting was probably a bit premature. In Derek’s defense… No, he didn’t really have a defense here. 

“I told you, I was trying to demonstrate my vulnerability,” Derek lied. 

“Well, you failed.”

Derek growled again, and Stiles cocked one eyebrow in warning. The Omega smoothed out the werewolf’s collar before striding over to the desk, the furthest point in the room from the Alpha. Derek received the message loud and clear, wisely choosing to not follow and instead man the door. With Stiles sitting at his desk, and him by the only entrance, Derek could almost pretend that Stiles had asked him to stay there for protection, and trust and stuff. 

“So, Derek Hale, prince-, sorry, Crown Prince of Nox, you’ve grown up since we last met,” Stiles drawled, tucking his limbs neatly into Derek’s desk chair. 

“We haven’t met before,” Derek protested before he could stop himself, “I would have remembered.” 

The Omega wrinkled his brow in confusion, “Well, I can assure you that I remember meeting you, very vividly in fact. There was cake and a fountain involved.” 

Derek wracked his brain, embarrassed to admit it when he came up blank, “Perhaps you mistook me for someone else.”

“You’re saying that I met a different Derek Hale, prince of Nox, who pushed me into a fountain after I threw a piece of cake at him?”

“Yes.”

That’s what Derek was going with, at least. The alternative was that he had forgotten his first encounter with his (hopefully) future mate, meaning the doppelganger scenario was very much preferable. 

“Uh, sure dude,” Stiles agreed skeptically.

The room fell into an awkward silence. Stiles was staring at Derek like he had just announced his candidacy for next year’s Miss Moonlight pageant, and the werewolf was becoming wildly uncomfortable. This had all gone so much smoother in his head. 

“Look,” Derek sighed, “I think we got off to a bad start.”

Stiles snorted, “You think? If you wanted this to go well, you shouldn’t have kidnapped me.”

Derek bristled at that, “Would you rather I left you back in Ambroise.”

“Yes!” 

“Even though they did that to you?” the Alpha demanded, pointing at Stiles’ injured wrists and throat. 

That gave the Omega a pause, but not for long.

“How do I know this wasn’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“How. Do. I. Know. This. Wasn’t. You?” Stiles spat, wrists held aloft. 

Derek sputtered, it hadn’t occurred to him that Stiles wouldn’t know who his attacker was.

“Because I- How could you not know who did that? Didn’t it hurt?” 

Stiles gaze was unrepentant, “I fell asleep in Ambroise, and I woke up here. Everything else is just black, up for interpretation, open for theorizing.”

Derek slumped against the door. One one hand he was relieved that his mate hadn’t been awake during what basically amounted to torture. On the other hand, he was frustrated that this was putting up yet another barrier between him and the human. 

Stiles smiled smugly, much too confident for someone in his position, having taken Derek’s silence as a concession, “So what exactly was your plan? Knock me out, scrub my wrists, and then what? Wait here naked and hope I’d want to mate? No offense, but that’s a shitty plan. Even Carl could probably have come up with a better plan than that, and he’s a fucking moron.”

Derek’s face went back to tomato mode, because at least one part of that theory was accurate. 

“And what if you’re right? That just means you’re stranded on a ship with an Alpha werewolf that’s, from the way you tell it, determined to mate with you. What’s your plan then?” Derek said, deferring to his inner asshole in the face of his embarrassment. 

Stiles frowned, “So you’re admitting to it?” 

“No, that’s not… I’m not,” the Alpha growled in frustration, unable to form the proper words in the face of Stiles skeptical expression.

“Look,” Derek tried again, “I couldn’t have hurt you, or let anyone else here hurt you, because…”

“Because…” Stiles prompted.

“Because we’re Mates!”

Stiles went deathly silent, visibly thrown for a loop for the second time in their conversation. Derek waited for the Omega’s response, body tense with anticipation. Would Stiles accept their natural chemistry and concede? Would he be disgusted? Would he-

Stiles burst into laughter. Not gentle, mildly amused chuckles, but full on shoulder-shaking, uncontrollable cackling. 

“Oh… Oh my god,” the human gasped, “I didn’t think you had a sense of humor big guy, but wooow, was I wrong. That’s friggin hilarious. Mates! Us!”

Derek’s wolf was mortified. Yes, his mate hadn’t directly rejected him, but that was only because his mate thought the prospect of their Mateship was so ludicrous it must be a joke. The Alpha shoved down his feelings of incompetence and geared up to try again. 

“This is no joke. You are my mate, and as soon as we land the courtship will begin,” Derek asserted, trying to sound confident in the face of Stiles cackles.

His confidence seemed to work, because Stiles sobered instantly, “Oh shit, you’re not joking.”

“Wolves don’t joke about mating, ever.”

The Omega nodded faintly, and Derek fought back the desire to send out pheromones to calm the distressed human. 

“Okay yeah,” Stiles muttered, “So what do I need to do to annul or void or stop this whole courtship train?”

“If you wish to challenge my right to court you then you may initiate a Mateship Fight,” Derek gritted. 

While he didn’t particularly like, and his wolf absolutely abhorred, the idea of having to fight his mate to prove his worth, if that was what it took, then that’s what Derek would do.

“Awesome, so we do that and then I can skedaddle on out of here?”

Skedaddle? “Technically, yes, but you would have to win the fight to terminate the courtship.”

Stiles unfolded himself from his chair, stretching his arms up towards the sky until his back popped loudly. 

“Great, so let’s do that, yeah? How does it work, can we do it here? Cause, ya’know, if I just go ahead and beat your ass in this room nobody has to see, and then I can just head on out to one of those lifeboats and take my chances on the open ocean,” Stiles babbled happily.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Derek said firmly, “A royal Mateship Fight has to take place in the capital city or it’s results will not be recognized by the crown.”

Stiles groaned, “Fucking great. I have to wait until we hit shore to ditch you.”

“I won’t lose,” Derek warned, “You should open yourself up to this courting now, it will make things easier for you in the future.”

“You mean I should just go ahead and open up my legs for you now?” Stiles muttered, just loud enough for Derek’s werewolf hearing. 

The Alpha blushed again, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

Stiles looked at him expectantly, “So… anything else you wanted to say? No other dramatic declarations? Are unicorns are real? Are you my secret twin? Am I actually you and you’re actually me, body-swap style?” 

“Uh, no.”

“Okay, bye then,” Stiles flopped down onto Derek’s bed, grinning.

Derek stared at the Omega, mouth hanging open like a gaping fish. 

“Isaac will ring the bell at mealtime,” he blurted out.

Stiles absently nodded along. 

“I’ll uh… I’ll be with the crew if you need me. Below the deck. Or above the deck, sometimes.”

“Thanks Fido.”

Derek gave a jerky nod and headed outside into the fresh ocean air, letting the door slam behind him. 

What the hell just happened?

Faintly, Derek could hear Stiles laughing inside the cabin,

“You just got Stilesed sucker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, to everyone who's left a Kudos or comment, I friggin love you. No, my socially anxious ass doesn't respond, but I promise we'll get there one day. Just know I read and love every single one of them.


	6. A Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has an unexpected reunion, and some confusing maybe-progress is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry about the wait, but here's the newest chapter!

Stiles was practically buzzing with anticipation as their boat neared the shore.

He could feel his magic pulsing, anxious to reunite with its source of power. The land, the beautiful, beautiful, land drew ever closer on the horizon, and the Omega had to restrain himself from jumping overboard to get there faster, the boat was moving so freaking slow. Seriously, he could probably swim faster than this.

Outside, he could hear Derek’s crew (pack? family?) shouting to one another, darting from post to post to prepare for docking. Erica, a blond girl who’s first words to Stiles had been “I call dibs on you after Derek fucks up” (Stiles still wasn’t sure how Erica’s mate, Boyd, a hulking dark-skinned giant of a man with muscles that gave Derek a run for his money, felt about the proposal), was manning the jib, hollering down to fellow blond bombshell Isaac.

The first thing that Stiles had figured out about werewolves was 1) they had freaky good hearing, and 2) they were all ridiculously hot. Like, seriously, everyone on board was a solid 11 out of 10. Even Jackson, who had a distinctly reptilian feel about him, was stupid hot. Stiles wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be them or make out with them. It changed day by day.

Derek’s pack had been surprisingly cordial to the emissary throughout the week-long trip, despite the fact that he had no understanding of what rationing meant. It was obvious that the wolves knew of their Alpha’s intention to court Stiles, which explained their friendliness. No point in pissing off a potential Alpha mate. But Isaac, skittish, frail little Isaac, was relentlessly timid around the Omega.

At first Stiles had thought the Beta werewolf was just nervous about being in the middle of the Ocean with an angry human. He had tried to present himself as non-threatening, offering Isaac some of his closely-guarded food, but that only seemed to scare the boy more. It wasn’t until Isaac passed out after witnessing Stiles summon a bread roll that the emissary realized the werewolf wasn’t afraid of humans, he was afraid of magic.

“His Dad was crazy superstitious,” Erica had explained, “thought that magic was tied up with the devil. Didn’t really help that he was an abusive bastard with a tendency towards paranoia. Isaac’s trying, but it’s going to take a little longer than a week for him to overcome a lifetime of beliefs.”

So Stiles had backed off Isaac, which left him with little to do around the ship but trade glares with Derek. Somehow, even after spending a week in extremely close proximity to the Omega, Derek still hadn’t backed off his “let’s mate” stance. It was honestly baffling; Stiles had seen much more aggressive Alpha’s fold in the face of his non-stop babbling and barbed insults, yet Derek remained unperturbed by Stiles general prickliness.

He wasn’t at a Carl level of desperation yet, but he was getting close. It was only the promise of an imminent escape that kept the Omega from doing something rash. As soon as they hit the shore, Stiles was going to fling himself off this damn boat and make a run for it. He could take on Derek and his pack, probably some of the dock workers too. From there he would use a location charm, find the nearest major road, and be back home within a fortnight. Really, it was a perfect plan.

The only roadblock so far had come while he was packing his things for landing and kept shoving articles of Derek’s clothing in with his. At first Stiles thought it was just an accident, but by the time he was done his sack was 20% his stuff, 110% Derek’s stuff. He hadn’t even been able to wrestle it closed, but everytime the emissary tried to remove something his Omega threw a tantrum. Stiles felt violently ill, his hands shook, and he had to bite his lip bloody to keep from whining. In the end he abandoned the sack, he only really needed the bandages anyway, and he could carry those.

Stiles glanced down at his wrists and grimaced. He had healed much better there than he had on his neck glands, where he still absolutely had to wear a bandage, but his wrists were a sickly watery-pink color. They were a constant reminded of his mysterious injury, one he liked to keep covered, but no matter how long Stiles spent trying to remember what happened he always came up blank.

The ship rocked softly as it was brought to a stop, and the emissary could feel the earth calling to him. He rocked on the balls of his feet, waiting until the crew outside had gone quiet before barreling out the door. He took a sharp left turn, prepared to leap from the ship onto the ground below when he caught sight of them.

There, on the shore below, was a giant crowd. A massive crowd. Literally everybody in the city must have been gathered up on the beaches and piers, because Stiles didn’t think he had ever seen so many werewolves in one place. Or were they humans? He hadn’t really considered the possibility that there were humans living in the Hale kingdom, but down on the beach he could see a dress-clad toddler grappling with a pair of wolfed-out boys, and she looked very much human.

Stiles jolted when something firm and warm slid around his waist, pulling him back against a wall of heat.

“Welcome to Nox, Stiles,” Derek murmured in his ear.

Stiles was frozen, literally frozen, because never during their entire trip had the Alpha ever been this forward. He could feel the length of Derek’s body pressed up against his, could feel the werewolf’s breath against his ear, and the Omega had no idea what to do. That was a lie, the purely Omega part of Stiles was totally good with this, in fact, they were thrilled. Probably wouldn’t mind if Derek threw them down and went at them right then and there.

But the rational part of Stiles was frantic. Derek’s arm was heavy against his stomach, a vertical line leading down to where the wolf’s hand clutched possessively at Stiles’ hip bone. Yes, the Omega had a long line of former suitors, but none of them had ever succeeded in getting physical with Stiles without getting a knife to the face. Which begged the question, why did Derek still have both his eyes right now?

Stiles pondered that as the Alpha led him down a ramp, the Omega still tucked neatly into his side, through the masses and up onto a platform where a three people sat in gleaming bronze thrones. The woman in the center, and largest, throne rose, the other two after her, and a hush fell over the crowd instantly.

The woman was regal, tall and statuesque in the afternoon sun, and achingly familiar. Talia Hale, Stiles realized, the Alpha Queen. She had been friends with his mother, before her death. As a child he used to accompany the two women on diplomatic trips, along with Talia’s oldest, Laura.

A million memories swam in his head, memories of walks in the flower gardens and games of tag by the forest’s edge. Stiles remembered how the two women used to sit and laugh together, their shared joy permeating the air.

The Alpha Queen glided across the platform, stopping feet from the pair. Her expression was one of detached, polite friendliness, and for a terrifying moment Stiles wondered if she remembered him at all. But as they bowed the Omega saw her lips twitch, once, twice, before her face split into a grin.

The Queen opened her arms, beckoning him with a gravity even greater than the earth’s, and Stiles was helpless to keep from falling into them. He pulled away from Derek without resistance, collapsing into the older woman’s arms. Talia smelled exactly like he remembered, a comforting mix between firewood and chai tea.

She was still smiling when he pulled away, and Stiles thought he could see the beginning of tears in her eyes as she cupped his face.

“Stiles. You look just like your mother darling,” she laughed, pulling the Omega in for another hug.

Stiles just grinned, nuzzling at her hair in an unconscious attempt to keep her scent. Being around Talia again was a little like coming home, and to be honest Stiles hadn’t felt at home since his mother died.

Both of them were teary-eyed when they pulled away to face the rest of the family. While the Omega was loath to tear his eyes from Talia’s face, it was worth it to see Derek’s gobsmacked expression. The werewolf’s face was frozen somewhere between confusion and excitement, laced with just a little bit of fear. Beside him a dark-haired girl Stiles didn’t recognize looked equally surprised.

Taking his place beside Talia, Ian coughed lightly, pulling the families attention away from the unexpected reunion.

“Stiles, son, we’re very glad you’re here, but I don’t believe we received a missive informing us of your arrival?” Ian remarked, apologetic.

Derek opened his mouth to respond, but Stiles jumped in before the Alpha had a chance, “Oh no, don’t worry about that, we didn’t send one. You see, I didn’t realize I’d be visiting until very, very recently.”

Talia narrowed her eyes at the Omega’s tone, throwing a sideways glance at Derek’s guilt-ridden expression.

“Mmmh, well, you and Derek certainly seemed friendly earlier. Would that have anything to do with your… surprise visit? Derek?” the Queen prompted.

“How do you know Stiles?” Derek countered, avoiding her question all together.

The Alpha was obviously distressed, trying to piece together too many things at once, and Stiles could practically see the gears in his head screeching and grinding in protest. The Omega waited, anxious to see if any of Derek’s family members would try to help, frustrated when none did. Derek’s pack also made no move to intervene from where they stood clustered on the side of the stage.

“Stiles used to visit us with his mother, Claudia Stilinski. I’m surprised you don’t remember, Derek, you two used to be quite the troublesome pair after all. Once you even pushed poor Stiles into a fountain, if I recall correctly.”

Stiles nodded in agreeance, and Derek just stuttered.

“Stilinski… Like the former Queen Claudia Stilinski? But Stiles-” the blood drained from the Alpha’s face, and Stiles had to physically refrain himself from reaching over to comfort him, “Oh… Stiles Stilinski. You’re Stiles Stilinski, Crown Prince of Beacon.”

“Yepsie daisy,” Stiles chirped.

“Yepsie Daisy,” Derek echoed faintly.

“This has been fun and all, but do we want to maybe get some privacy? I think Derek’s broken,” the brunette-girl smirked.

Stiles glanced down at the many, many eyes peering up at them and hastily agreed. Talia led the way towards the carriage, stopping occasionally to grasp hands and offer quiet thank-yous to the crowd. Stiles forced himself to walk with his chin up and spine straight, just as his mother taught him, and thought about anything other than the fact that he was surrounded by werewolves.

Otter, Otter, Otter, Otter, Wow I’m hungry, Otter, Otter, Derek’s standing really close to me, Otter, Otter, Otter, Otter, Otter, Giraffe, fuck, I’m falling.

Stiles was already bracing himself for impact after tripping spectacularly over his own feet when Derek leapt into action, arms darting out to pull the Omega up and in, until Stiles was being cradled bridle style. The emissary blinked, once, twice, looking between himself and the werewolf. By then Derek was already stepping into the carriage, depositing Stiles beside him before taking a seat. The cheering crowd was muffled by the closed door, but Stiles could still hear their exuberant shouts as the horses began to move.

As Stiles felt Derek’s arm slip back around his waist, it occurred to him that he never did try to escape. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. As always, Kudos and Comment! I love hearing from you guys, it brings me life.


	7. The Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes a commitment, and Derek makes some assumptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! To all y'all who left comments on my work, thank you so much. When I need to get into a writing mood I'll just scroll through them for inspiration, they're all so sweet! Sorry about the long wait, but I'm here now! Be on the lookout for another (slightly shorter) chapter soon!

Derek couldn’t remember ever feeling this great. 

Yes, seeing Stiles and his mom like that had been a bit of a shock, and the revelation that Stiles’ father was King of Beacon even more so, but all in all his mate’s introduction had gone fantastically. His mother obviously loved Stiles, his father had seemed happy, even Cora had looked charmed by the Omega. The people had certainly loved him. Derek had heard the way they cooed and awed at the young human. 

The carriage ride went by quickly, quiet except for the occasional murmuring between Stiles and his mother. The Omega hadn’t made any attempts to shrug off the arm around his waist, nor had he resisted Derek’s hold earlier on the ship. His mate was coming around, and Derek was near ecstatic. 

The Alpha could feel his pack’s excitement like a warm bubble in his chest. The Beta’s were running alongside the carriage, flanking the royal family. They ran in determined silence, but occasionally one of them would become overwhelmed (cough Isaac cough) and let out an excited yip. Other howls joined theirs as they neared the gate, and Derek had to resist the urge to join in as well. His mate probably wouldn’t appreciate  an ear-splitting howl in a closed carriage. 

A group of servants met them at the palace doors alongside some of Cora’s friends, who were gleefully dismissed by an amused Talia. Cora rushed to her brother, allowing him a quick scenting before dashing off to join her friends in the orchard. 

Beside him Stiles shifted uncomfortably, edging out of Derek’s hold. The Alpha reluctantly allowed him to pull away. There would be more time for intimacy later, the Omega needed space to think now, he reminded himself.

Talia led the group into the throne room, calling out orders to nearby staff as she went. To Derek’s surprise, his mother bypassed the thrones in favor of the parlor room to the left; he recognized the room, it had been one of his favorite places as a child. It was a quaint space, furnished with ornate couches and chairs, but Derek’s favorite thing about it was the view. The parlor  jutted out over the forest below, clearly visible through the open pilars. During thunderstorms it had been easy for young Derek to imagine he was in a cloud, floating along in the sky. 

The Queen sat gracefully in a turquoise armchair, Ian taking his place by her side. Derek sat on an adjacent couch, eagerly making space for Stiles. The Omega ignored him, instead choosing a small loveseat, deliberately looking at Derek as he settled in. 

Talia watched their interaction with a raised eyebrow. 

“So Mouse, what brings you here?” she inquired. 

Stiles groaned, “Talia no, please. Not that stupid nickname again. It’s even more embarrassing now than it was then.”

Talia laughed, “Sorry, sorry. You were just so small as a child, and then after your mother and I found you playing in that mud puddle, it seemed to fit!”

Stiles relinquished the point with another groan, doing an extremely poor job hiding his grin. 

“Well, Talia, to answer your question, I’m here because of your son.”

Derek frowned at Stiles tone, a small thread of fear slithering up his chest at the Omega’s expression. 

“My son?”

“He seems to be under the impression that I’m his mate.”

Talia beamed, delighted but not surprised. 

“So he kidnapped me and refuses to let me go.” 

Her smile vanished. Her gaze swung to a petrified Derek.

“Derek Hale. Explain.”

“Well, I… I um… he was… I found him while raiding Ambroise, and he smelled like home, and they had him drugged and laid out on a bed and it was freezing, so I saved him,” Derek fumbled.

“You kidnapped me,” Stiles asserted, gesticulating wildly.

“Mouse,” Talia asked carefully, “what happened to your wrists?”

Stiles flushed, clasping his hands over bandaged wrists. 

“Yeah, uh, I’m not super sure. Derek said that they were there when he found me, but-”

“Derek said what was there?” Talia interjected. 

Red-faced, the Omega began slowly unwinding the bandages until his wrist were bared to the werewolf’s gaze. Talia growled, on her feet and clutching at the injury before Stiles could so much as flinch. She sniffed at the inflamed area, gaze already narrowing in on the white wrapping hidden beneath the Omega’s collar. 

“Derek. What. Happened?” the Alpha bit out.

“They tried to force a mating,” 

“Who is They?”

“The Argents.”

The sound Talia made was gut wrenching, a horrible mix between a roar and a scream. Stiles flinched away from her hold, whimpering when the Alpha’s eyes met his. 

“Oh Mouse, I’m sorry dear, I’m not angry at you,” she reassured him, clutching his hand tightly in hers. 

 Stiles sighed, “I know.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I… I, uh, don’t know. The last thing I remember was leaving the library, then Derek’s ship.”

Talia nodded slowly, settling back down into her seat. Her mate reached over, rubbing a soothing hand over her shoulders.

“Derek, you think he was drugged?” Ian asked.

“He was unconscious when I found him, rag over his nose, and he smelled like chemicals. He, uh... his scent glands were scrubbed. That’s how I found him, I could smell him from the entrance of the temple.”

“And you’re sure they were trying to force a mating?”

“He was in a ceremonial gown.”

...That was new information.

Stiles whipped around so fast his neck cracked, “What gown? I woke up in a shirt and trousers.”

“That’s what I changed you into,” Derek admitted, “I got rid of the outfit as soon as we got to the boat. It stunk.” 

“Describe it.”

“What?” 

“The gown. Describe it.” 

“Uh, it was white,  the shirt was lace, no collar but long sleeved. I think the trousers were silk, also white, and they had all this lacing up the side," Derek tried.

Stiles paled, his shoulders curling into himself as he processed what the werewolf has said. Derek could smell the bitter scent of his misery from across the room, and his wolf begged to comfort the mate. Telegraphing his movements, the werewolf rose, moving slowly towards Stiles until they were less than a foot apart. The Omega stared mournfully at the floor as Derek lowered himself onto the love-seat.

“You’re not lying” Stiles whispered, looking up at the Alpha for confirmation. 

Derek nodded. 

“I… I don’t understand,”  the Omega stuttered, “I had it under control. Carl wasn’t… he wouldn’t… I was supposed to be going home.”

“Who is Carl, Mouse?” Talia questioned. 

“Carl Argent. He was courting me, sort of,” Stiles confessed. 

Red flashed across Talia’s eyes as she willed her son to settle down, lest he scare the Omega. Derek was visibly furious, but Stiles didn’t even seem to notice when the Alpha shifted into Beta-form. Stiles leaned into the werewolf just a little, subconsciously seeking comfort, and Derek automatically switched gears. He moved in to cradle Stiles, wanting to feel the younger boy’s slight weight against his chest. 

Stiles hissed when Derek’s hand brushed against his arm, rearing back into a defensive posture. The werewolf wracked his brain for a way to calm his clearly upset Omega down. The distant memory of his mother purring to him when he was a child surfaced, and Derek cleared his throat. 

He didn’t even get the beginning of a hum out before he was flying through the air. The Alpha smashed into a column with a sickening crack, looking around wildly for the threat even as his head oozed blood. Instead of an enemy, Derek saw Stiles standing behind the loveseat, faint wisps of magic dissipating from his hands. 

“Don’t fucking do that. If I want to be angry, I’ll be angry. You have no right to try and influence me, I don’t give a shit about how uncomfortable my emotions make you. Try that again, and I’ll make sure there’s not a column in the way,” Stiles spat.

Derek glanced down at the sprawling expanse of forest below them, then back to Stiles luminous whisky eyes, and nodded. A fall from this height wouldn’t kill him, but it would sure as hell hurt. 

“Talia, Ian, it was lovely seeing you but I’m afraid it’s time for me to take my leave. Clearly I have some business to attend to with the Argents.” 

Talia eyed the pair, torn between concern for Stiles and her son. Derek seemed so smitten, but if Stiles didn’t encourage his advances, then they had no choice but to let him go. The Queen collected herself, tearing her gaze away from Derek’s distraught expression, and nodded at Stiles. 

“If that is your decision Stiles, we will respect it, but it is my opinion that you would benefit from extending your stay here, at least until things settle down.”

Stiles smiled ruefully, “Thank you for the offer, but I need to get home. My father’s probably worried out of his mind.” 

“You can't go!" Derek protested. 

“Watch me.”

“You promised me a courtship match!” 

Stiles stopped, turning the full force of his glare towards Derek. He may not be a werewolf, but the emissary was somewhat aware of their traditions, especially after Derek had explained it to him on the boat. Courtship matches were sacred, ceremony at its most efficient. Derek definitely knew that, and yes, pretending Stiles’ empty and ill-informed proposal was a commitment was kind of cheating, but Stiles was trying to leave! This was an emergency, damnit.

“Is that true Stiles?” Talia asked.

“I told him that if he wouldn’t let me go, I’d just beat him in a courtship fight and leave then.”

“So you did agree to the match?”

“I didn’t really agree...,” Stiles lied.

“Well then I’m afraid you have no choice,” Talia said, taking the lie as the confirmation it was, “you will honor your commitment, however half-hearted it may have been. Ian, if you could fetch Deaton?”

“Talia, please,” Stiles pleaded, “I just want to go home.”

The Queen sighed, “Mouse, I understand that you don’t want this mateship, but I must insist. It’s only fair that Derek is given a chance, just as you are.”

Derek held back a whimper, eyeing Stiles solemnly. The Alpha had thought they were making progress, that they had grown closer over the long boat ride. Clearly though, he and Stiles were not on the same page. 

“May I write to my father?” Stiles asked wearily. 

Talia smiled, “Of course, dear, I can have our best couriers here by nightfall.”

The emissary waved off her offer, “Don’t worry about the delivery, we have our own system. I’ll just need pen and paper.”

Talia agreed quickly, much happier with the compromise than her lovestruck son. Derek moped in the corner as the two discussed the logistics of Stiles stay, gingerly fingering the already-healing crack in his skull. His mate had rejected him twice now, and Derek wasn’t sure what to do. He was desirably, was he not? Many people had complimented the Alpha’s face, his physique, his power. He was royalty, so obviously he could provide for Stiles and their future pups. It wasn’t like they didn’t have a connection, and Stiles was definitely attracted to him, so what was the problem? Why was Stiles fighting this so hard? Maybe he should try the mating display again…?

Derek’s father slipped back into the room, Deaton behind him, and Derek subtly inched closer to Stiles. He trusted Deaton, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a potential threat.

“My Queen, you called for me?” Deaton murmured, bowing, neck bared to the Alpha. 

“Yes. Deaton, this is Stiles. He and Derek will be engaging in a mating match as soon as possible, which you will be officiating. I need you to begin the process as soon as possible, as both parties are anxious for the match’s result.”

Deaton caught Stiles’ eye, who sneered at the pack emissary. The Omega looked ruffled, with his hair in tangles and week-old clothes, but Derek thought he was breathtaking; strong, regal, determined, practically the perfect partner. He was probably a little biased though. Stiles could be curb-stomping an elderly woman, completely covered in shit, and Derek would still get flutters in his chest. 

“Of course Alpha Hale. Would you like me to provide Stiles with weaponry for the fight?” Deaton questioned. 

“Yeah, like me going all “Sparticus” is going to help,” Stiles grumbled, “No weapons. We’ll do this the traditional way.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow, “No weapons? Are you certain?”

“Hell yeah, why not raise the stakes a little bit? You know what, fuck it, let's invite the whole damn pack, since this seems to mean so much to Derek," Stiles sneered.

“You want to fight me, and my pack?” Derek asked, breathless, and completely missing Stiles barb. 

Talia shared a concerned glance with Deaton, who just nodded. A mating match was one thing, but a mating match against a pack was another. 

“Stiles, dear, I think it’s probably for the best if you-” Talia tried.

“No. Talia, I’m thankful for your concern, but this is how I want to do it, me, versus Derek and his pack."

“If you insist,” Talia obliged. 

“My boy, it’s for your own safety that the Queen and myself,” Deaton said with a pointed glance to Talia, “insist that you keep the match between you and Derek. Holding off an Alpha will be difficult as is, there is no need to risk your safety and take on a whole pack just to prove yourself.”

Stiles bristled, leveling the druid with a nasty glare. 

“I’m not trying to prove shit here,” the emissary spat, “but what Talia said was right. Derek at least deserves a fair chance since he helped me. So I’ll let him bring his pack, field leveled.”

Deaton moved to protest, but froze, mouth open and hand raised. His gaze locked with Stiles. 

Derek had the intense urge to throw himself between the two magic users, to at least somewhat protect Stiles from Deaton’s ire. Deaton, while irritatingly vague and more than a little annoying, was a strong emissary, and not the kind of person his mate should be going up against. The Alpha tensed, ready to sweep his little mate behind him when, to his surprise, Deaton who dropped his stare, releasing the electric charge Derek hadn’t realized was building.

The Beta emissary cleared his throat, avoiding Talia’s questioning gaze as he spoke, “Very well then, if that is what he wishes then I would advise Derek to accept Stiles' terms as he has presented them now, formally.” 

Stiles gave the wolves no time to consider Deaton’s bizarre advice, jumping on the chance to move the process along. 

“So, Derek, how do we do this?” he asked. 

“Uhh,” Derek contributed. 

Talia kindly took over, trying to save her son from any more embarrassment, “Well, Mouse, the first step is to state the terms of the match, as officiated by me, and then the two of you will be left alone to conduct a scenting. Once the scents have faded, the match will take place."

Stiles wrinkled his nose, “Do we really need to do the scenting part?”

“Yes!” Derek assured him, trying to sound more authoritative than desperate.

Stiles looked at the Alpha, visibly skeptical, but nodded his head. Derek had to resist the urge to fistpump in the air. 

“Alright, Deaton, if you would?” Talia gestured. 

Deaton positioned the pair until they were face to face with palms outstretched, throwing Stiles suspicious glances as he moved. Talia thanked the Beta somewhat stiffly, and Derek found that he too was annoyed with Deaton’s reaction to Stiles. Then again, Derek was annoyed by most things Deaton did. 

“Emissary Mieczyslaw Stilinski, do you accept Alpha Derek Hale’s mating challenge, understanding the rules and repercussions of your agreement?”

“I do,” Stiles said. 

“Alpha Derek Hale, do you accept Emissary Stiles Stilinski’s terms of combat, that this will be a weaponless match, and your pack will be allowed full participation?”

“I do,” Derek said.

“Then I acknowledge and accept your intentions, and give the both of you permission to begin preparing. The rules upon which you have agreed will be repeated at the beginning of the match, which will take place as soon as your respective marks have faded. You are both aware of what is expected once I leave this room, I expect protocol to be followed exactly. If either of you are unable to complete this transaction appropriately the challenge will be terminated,” Talia stated, looking pointedly at Derek. 

Derek nodded solemnly, doing what he thought was a pretty great job hiding his excitement. (Given how Talia’s lip had acquired a pronounced twitch, it probably wasn’t working.) 

“Derek, we’ll expect you in the war room in exactly thirty minutes to report on the raid,” Ian reminded his son, smiling at Derek’s distracted sound of affirmation.

Talia gave Stiles one more hug, whispering endearments into his ear before making her leave. Ian followed, and finally Deaton trailed behind the couple, reluctant to leave. The Beta exchanged one last distrustful look with Stiles, who glared viciously, before letting the door close behind him. Stiles and Derek were alone, well and truly alone, for the first time since they met. 

“So… you wanna go ahead and start this thing? The sooner we do it, the sooner we...,” Stiles trailed off, eyeing the Alpha warily. 

Derek was on his feet, pushing away from the dented column and striding over towards the Omega before he could finish. Stiles sputtered, backing away until his back hit the wall, a large settee standing between him and the door. 

“You okay there dude? ‘Cause you seem a little- oh, okay,” Stiles gasped. 

Derek crowded the Omega against the wall, seizing him by the shoulders before diving face first into the boy’s neck. The Alpha rumbled, pressing his body closer to his mate’s, maximizing contact. If Derek had been happy in the carriage with just his arm around Stiles waist, this was practically nirvana.

This close, the Omega’s smell was almost overwhelming. Derek rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ neck, breathing in the clouds of pheromones released by the stimulation. The Alpha was achingly hard, (when had that happened?) but he was too far gone off hormones and _Stiles_ to care. 

Derek ground his hips up against the human, delighted to find that Stiles wasn’t unaffected by the exchange. The Omega had gone pliant in his grip, the hand he had raised to fend the Alpha off slowly lowering to rest on the werewolf’s chest. Derek ran the flat of his tongue along his mate’s neck, nipping playfully at Stiles’ scent glands while he waited for their scents to merge. 

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek murmured, swiping his wrist against the Omega’s neck. 

Stiles just whined, making aborted little thrusts against Derek’s leg. 

The Alpha sniffed, grinning at the scent of slick slowly permeating the air, “You smell good baby.”

Stiles tightened his grip on Derek’s shirt, shoving the Alpha away before he could go in for a second layer of scenting. 

“That’s enough,” Stiles panted, “Scenting completed.”

Derek smirked, legs apart as he made no attempt to hide his arousal. Stiles’ eyes darted down, then up, then back down before looking away, face flaming. 

“Don’t you have some kind of meeting to be getting too?” the human muttered. 

“Soon,” Derek replied. 

The two lapsed into silence, Derek watching with barely-concealed amusement as Stiles edged around the settee and towards the door. Any of Derek’s worries about Stiles’ opinion on their mating had been put to rest by the scenting. They were a good match, physically and mentally, and now Stiles couldn’t deny it, not with the way he had reacted. The Omega could protest all he wanted, in time he would eventually give in. 

“Right, so, later, I guess,” Stiles said awkwardly, slamming the door behind him. 

Derek stayed standing for a moment, allowing his arousal to fade before he left for his strategy report. For the first time since he met his mate, the Alpha felt relaxed, content. Now that Stiles had been scented Derek had no need to worry about a possible escape. He would be able to track Stiles anywhere.

Now that he knew for sure that the human was his, no force on Earth would be enough to derail their mating. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Derek, my sweet summer child, coming off as a little creepy there bud. 
> 
> Again, thank y'all for taking the time out of your day to read my little fic here! And for anyone who may be thinking along the lines of Derek about matters of arousal versus consent, here's a really great Ted Talk that should clear that up! ( https://www.ted.com/talks/emily_nagoski_the_truth_about_unwanted_arousal?language=en ) Physical reaction and verbal consent are two very different things, it's just taking Derek a hot minute to figure that out. Don't be like Derek! (Don't fret, he'll get better.)


	8. Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles thinks about his position, and Isaac comes to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm putting today's notes in the chapter because they're super important, and it's super easy to skip the notes. No finger pointing here! I do it too, I just wanted to make sure everyone saw this.

Hey y'all! Sorry to interrupt the story flow, but I felt that this was super important to say. I made a similar point in my notes last chapter, but I feel like I didn't do a good enough job making sure people would see it. For anyone who didn't see a problem with Derek's behavior last chapter, that's okay, but please take a minute to read this statement, and be sure to check out the link provided at the end of my little reminder. Consent is extremely important, and I don't want anyone thinking my story advocates for anything but explicit verbal consent. I understand that some works on AO3 tag and use Dubcon, which I'm not shaming at all. Fiction is the only place where Noncon has any sort of place, and as long as it's appropriately tagged and warned about I don't see an issue with it. In fact I myself have enjoyed self aware, properly tagged Dead Dove: Do Not Eat stories. But this story is not intended to center around the fetishization of rape culture. It is very important to understand that, while characters only have the emotions and desires given to them by the author in literature, real people do not work the same way.

Real people do not come to conclusions parallel to the story line, and unwanted and forceful advancements can be psychologically damaging. The way a person's body reacts to stimuli should never be taken as indication of where they are at mentally. In any new or budding relationships, verbal consent should be given every time you and your partner become more intimate. For anyone who would like more detail, there is an amazing Ted Talk on matters of consent versus physical reaction here: https://www.ted.com/talks/emily_nagoski_the_truth_about_unwanted_arousal?language=en

Derek will come to realize that his actions were inappropriate, this is still a Sterek story after all and no Sterek is happening here without explicit consent, but until then I just want people to understand why I'm making ya'll go through this slow burn. Relationships will never work if one partner has more control than the other. Anyways, thank, and enjoy!

 

Stiles walked to his room with shaky legs, biting his lip to hold back tears. 

Talia had set him up in a lovely garden-view guest room, complete with a soaking tub that the Omega was desperately going to need. The sensation of slick drying between his legs was humiliating, a reminder that Stiles had been betrayed by his own body. 

Really though, Stiles figured, it was his own fault. He had been the one who foolishly agreed to a mating challenge before understanding what that was. And just then, during the scenting, Stiles could have pushed Derek away at any time. He had done it just moments before, why did he freeze up then? The truth was that he _could_ have stopped Derek, he just... didn't. 

Stiles locked the door to his room behind him. He took a step forward, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and began summoning chairs from around the room. Five anxiety provoking minutes later, the Omega had amassed a fairly impressive chair barricade ( _chairicade_ , Stiles mind supplied) for protection. No, it wouldn’t be enough to stop a werewolf from getting in, but it would give him a few precious extra moments to prepare. 

The bedsheets were soft and comforting against his skin; Stiles gave in to his impulses, guilty scenting the sheets. But instead of infusing with the soft scent of Omega, the cloth began to take on a hint of Alpha musk, alongside a sharp edge of--. Stiles threw the sheets aside, cursing at the servants for taking so long to draw his bath water. He stunk of Alpha, everywhere, and the last thing he needed was for his room, his one fucking safe haven from Derek, to reek too. 

 But Alpha scent or no Alpha scent, the emissary was exhausted. Throwing Derek against that pillar had taken more energy than Stiles would like to admit, more energy than it should have. The lackluster rations on the boat combined with his near-constant state of anxiety had taken its toll. 

The emissary gingerly sat himself in a plush, mint-green armchair with a clear view of the door. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally drained, but he wasn’t going to let himself get taken by surprise again. The armchair smelled like cedar, almost the same woodsy note his mom’s scent had held, and for the first time in over a week Stiles let himself cry. 

The Omega sobbed, crying bitter tears for his father, his mother, his friends, himself. His parents had mated for love, a rare occurrence, and they truly had cherished each other. Growing up Stiles had held onto the hope that someday he too would find The One. He had held onto that hope through every insulting proposal, snide remark, clumsy courtship; it had been the one thing that let him go back to his room at the end of the day, head held high, sure that he would eventually find a mate who _deserved_ him. 

Stiles had been a child then. He had let himself believe that fate was kind, a benevolent creature. But in reality fate was cruel; cruel for tearing his parents apart so soon after they found each other, cruel for killing the Hale’s eldest, cruel for making Stiles lesser by virtue of his biology. 

Stiles just needed to accept the fact that eventually someone, if not Derek, would do what fate had been planning to do since he was born; enslave him. They would sit him down, tell him what to do and when to do it, demand Stiles give them kids, criticize him when he disagreed. Stiles gritted his teeth, pushing his face deeper into the armchair. 

You know what, fuck that.

There will come a day when Stiles was no longer able to make his own decision, and that day will be the day they put him in the ground. Fuck fate, he wasn’t just going to bend over and take it like all those Alphas obviously thought he should. They could push all they wanted, Stiles was going to fight with his dying breath to keep his freedom. 

A knock sounded at the door, and the Omega sprung to his feet, hissing defensively at the intruder. Outside someone stumbled, apologizing and saying something about water? Right, Stiles stank. 

The emissary tossed the chairs away from the door, letting them scatter haphazardly around the room, they weren’t necessary. Actually, Stiles would probably welcome it if someone with ill intent burst into his room, he could benefit from letting off some steam.

But instead of a wayward werewolf, Stiles found Isaac behind the door, awkwardly juggling three buckets of water. The Omega sighed, letting the anger drain out of him. Isaac kindly ignored Stiles’ tear-stained face, keeping his gaze locked somewhere over Stiles’ shoulder.

“I thought Talia was going to send up some servants to bring the water?”

“She was, but Derek doesn’t want anyone but pack knowing where your room is.”

Stiles laughed bitterly, but gestured for Isaac to enter, locking the door behind them.

“So how did you get stuck with water-boy duty?” the human asked wryly. 

Isaac looked up from the tub, bemused, “Actually, I had to arm wrestle Erica for this, twice. She’s not a very gracious loser.”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, “Seriously? You _wanted_ to pour my bathwater?” 

“Why not? Derek seems hellbent on making you the Alpha Mate and..” the werewolf took a breath, “and I wanted to apologize for how I acted, on the boat. You tried to help me and I… wasn’t receptive. I’m sorry about that.”

The Beta’s scent held strong undertones of remorse, congruent with his earnesty. The kid was looking up at Stiles with big, hopeful eyes, and it struck the Omega that Isaac was hoping for to be pardoned. By Stiles. As if he had the power to pardon anyone of anything. 

“Did Derek put you up to this?”

“What?”

Again, with the earnesty. That must be one of Isaac’s formative traits, Stiles reasoned, with the way it brought out the earthy tones in his evergreen scent. It was a nice scent, soothing. 

“Did Derek tell you to come apologize to me?”

“No! No, I just… I hadn't really even seen magic before, in person, and you kept moving things through the air which, while super cool don’t get me wrong, was kind of freaky. All the books my Dad used to give me were about demons who could levitate stuff and seduce people, and the way Derek was behaving was… It freaked me out, is what I’m trying to say. But I shouldn’t have been so cold to you. You’re a person too,” the blond finished shakily. 

The emissary watched the poor boy shift nervously from foot to foot, peeking up at him from behind thick lashes. Stiles sighed, eyeing the bathwater longingly. He could always reheat it later.

“Come on,” Stiles directed, turning on his heel, back into the bedroom. 

Isaac followed, wary and confused, but curious. Stiles tossed himself onto his bed, patting the duvet beside him in blatant invitation. His werewolf companion seated himself gently on the bed, eyeing the covers with suspicion. 

The Omega smiled, ignoring the itch along his thighs and the slight tightness of his face. His former melancholy was slowly giving way to excitement. It had been a while since anyone had wondered about his magic. Most of the people he came into contact with nowadays were used to it, or were too interested in his, admittedly attractive, ass to pay attention. 

“Your dad sounds like a dick.”

Isaac flailed, nearly falling off the bed, but recovered in time. 

“Yeah, he was,” the blond answered tentatively. 

“How many of those books did he give you?” 

“Uh, the ones about demons?”

Stiles nodded. 

“Five. Maybe six.”

“Right, and what did they say about magic exactly?”

“That magic was given to humans by the devil, to corrupt them. One book said that to gain magic you had to sleep with the devil, but most just said that Satan picked the weakest of God’s children and tempted them with power.”

Stiles hummed, “That sort of makes sense, how they’d come to that conclusion. Magic users generally aren’t known for their stunning physiques. Side effect of being inside, brewing shit all the time.”

“I think you have a nice physique.”

Isaac immediately turned bright red, covering his face with his hands and mumbling to himself. The Omega withheld a giggle, rubbing the Beta’s back sympathetically. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles said easily, “It’s always nice to know all my hard work is being appreciated.”

“Yeah,” Isaac muttered, face still cherry-red. 

“Anyways,” Stiles continued, “It sounds like your Dad was giving you mostly Anglo-Saxon mythology, right?”

“Anglo-Saxen?” 

“They were a super old civilization, but a lot of States, especially south of here, still believe in their God. You know, one God, a divine spirit, and an incarnate of God sent to burn the world.”

“Save the world,” Isaac muttered.

“What?”

“The, the uh, the human incarnate of God was supposed to save the world.”

“Right, well, I was close,” Stiles bulldozed on, “Regardless, a lot of that stuff centered around declaring the unknown as evil. Magic? Evil. The Supernatural? Evil. Menstrual cycles? Evil.”

“Menstrual cycles?” Isaac asked, wrinkling his nose. 

“Hey now, don’t be dissin’ my flow!”

“...What?”

“Nevermind. Point is, they condemned what they didn’t understand, because it scared them.”

“Just like I did…”

“In the beginning, maybe,” Stiles said kindly, “But you’re here now, with all sorts of questions, I’m sure.”

“Yes!” Isaac confirmed enthusiastically.

“Ask away!”

“Okay… uh, this is probably a stupid question, but how does it work?”

“How does what work, exactly?”

Isaac blushed, “Your magic. How did you, you know, get it?”

“I was born with it,” the emissary explained, “You can’t get magic, it’s not like lycanthropy. You either have the Spark inside of you at birth, or you don’t.”

“Oh. So you were born able to control magic?”

Stiles laughed, “Not exactly. I was born with the _potential_ to control magic. As a kid I kept banishing my clothes, and my dad couldn’t figure out how I was doing it. Eventually my mom caught me in the act. They set me up with a tutor after that, I think I was around five-ish then.”

“So if you hadn’t been taught how to use it…”

“I wouldn’t be able to control my Spark nearly as well. I’d still be able to use magic, but it would be just basic stuff mostly. Summoning, easy charms, pyrokinesis, maybe telekinisis.

Isaac perked up, “Pyrokinesis?”

Stiles grinned, “Yeah. Wanna see?”

Isaac nodded.  Stiles held one hand aloft, breathing deeply before… there! Flames sparked to life in his palm, dancing along his wrist and up his fingers where they crested along his fingertips. Isaac gasped, gaze fixed on the flames in childish delight. 

“It doesn’t hurt?” the werewolf asked, awed.

“Nope,” Stiles said, “Check this out.”

The flames twisted in the emissary’s palm, curling into a familiar shape. A detailed figure of Derek rose up and strode out onto Stiles’ fingers. The mini-Derek puffed out his chest, flexing his arms and chest cartoonishly. Isaac laughed, looking a little guilty, before reaching out to touch. 

Stiles snapped his hand shut, extinguishing the flames. 

“Woah, careful there. Just because it doesn’t burn me, doesn’t mean it won’t burn you. I’m safe from my magic, you’re not,” he warned. 

The werewolf looked inappropriately chastised, as if he had just tried to piss on Stiles instead of interrupting the display. For a moment Stiles worried he was going to cry.

“Sorry,” Isaac muttered, “It’s just that… I’ve never seen anything like that. Deaton’s only ever done wards and stuff. 

Stiles snorted, “That’s not surprising. He’s a good emissary, especially with the pack’s power behind him, but he’s not really that strong of a magic user.”

The Beta looked skeptical, “He’s had a lot of training…”

“I’m sure he has. You can do all the training in the world, it won’t matter if your Spark isn’t strong enough to handle it.”

“But you said--”

“I said anyone with a Spark has the potential to control magic. Some people have more potential than others. It also depends on what element you tie yourself too.”

Isaac was looking increasingly confused, and Stiles had to refrain from sighing. This was a lot to process, especially for someone who had minimal exposure to magic, he reminded himself. 

“Here, I’ll break it down for you. Anyone born with a Spark has the potential to use magic, but some people are born with a stronger Spark than others, hence some people are capable of doing more difficult magic than others.”

“Okay…”

“At a pretty young age, your Spark binds itself with an element. Earth, Air, Fire, Water. You don’t get to decide, it happens based on the strength of your Spark. The weakest Sparks bond to water, because it’s much more malleable than the other elements, and weak magic needs that conductivity. Sparks that are strong but not dependable bond with fire, they’re attracted to the volatility. Sparks that are strong but lack significant stamina bond with air, because it helps them recuperate quickly. The strongest Sparks bond with Earth; it’s stable and resilient,” Stiles explained, “Are you still with me?”

“I think so,” Isaac nodded.

Stiles kind of wanted to laugh at how serious the other boy looked, with his face scrunched up in concentration like that. Usually he’d make a joke about how there wasn’t going to be a test, but Isaac seemed so sincere, Stiles didn’t want to say anything that could be taken as criticism. ( _Take that Dad, I do have self-control_ , the Omega thought smugly.) 

“Right, so after a Spark bonds to an element, you’re able to determine your capacity for magic.”

“So your Spark is bonded to fire?” Isaac asked. 

“What? No,” Stiles protested. 

“But earlier you were controlling it!

“Okay, yeah, that’s a little confusing,” Stiles admitted, “No, my Spark is bonded to Earth. I can still work with other elements, fire, water, etc, but I don’t draw my power from them.”

“That… sort of makes sense? What is Deaton bonded to?”

“As far as I can tell, air.”

“So you’re stronger than him?”

“Possibly.”

The two lapsed into silence. Isaac nodded to himself, probably turning over all the information in his head. Stiles fidgeted with the bed covers, tapping his foot in an unsteady rhythm against the wooden bed frame. 

Eventually Isaac spoke, “Do... do you really hate Derek?” 

The Omega frowned, “Where does that question come from?”

“Nowhere,” the werewolf sputtered, “You just don’t seem to like him very much, is all.”

He was probably still feeling guilty from his laugh at Derek’s expense earlier, Stiles realized.

“I don’t hate him. I don’t care enough to hate him. I just don’t want to be here, and I don’t appreciate what he’s trying to do,” he admitted. 

“Court you?”

“Own me. I’ve spent all my life fighting for my independence, I’m not going to lose it now.”

“You know, being mated doesn’t mean losing your independence. Mates respect each others’ boundaries,” Isaac tried.

Stiles laughed ruefully, “I’ve been doing this half my life, and never once has anyone ‘respected my boundaries’. People take what they think they can get away with, and then they keep taking.”

“That’s a really cynical way of looking at courtship.”

“I’m not talking about every courtship. I’ve seen good courtships, I’m happy for the people who have them, but I also know the realities of my situation. No one comes to me expecting nothing. They all want something, and when I say no they try to take it. Derek’s no different.”

“Derek’s completely taken by you,” Isaac protested, confused, “Everyone in the pack can feel it. He wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want, if you gave him a chance.”

“Sure he would. The second I let my guard down he’s all over me: on the boat, in the carriage, ten fucking minutes ago. He doesn’t ask, he just takes,” Stiles spat, getting up off the bed. 

Isaac stared after him helplessly, “He’s not trying to be forceful, that’s just a werewolf thing. Wolves use action instead of words, it fits their nature better I guess. I know it’s kind of difficult to adapt to, it took me a while to get used to it, but that’s just how they are. The first time Erica saw Boyd she stripped down to do a mating display and challenged him to a wrestling match. They started courting right after.”

“That’s great for Erica and Boyd. It really is. But I don’t want to be mated. I certainly don’t want to get mated right after being molested by the Argents, kidnapped, held hostage, and then coerced into this mating challenge. I’ve told Derek I don’t want this. I tried to break his head open against a column for fuck’s sake! Did either Boyd or Erica do that?” 

“No,” Isaac admitted, watching Stiles pace around the room. 

“Then there, not exactly a fair comparison is it?”

Isaac sighed in defeat. He wanted to help Derek, he did, but Stiles was right. And besides, no healthy mating comes from force; it was better if they just let the weary Omega go home. 

“I’m sorry,” the werewolf offered.

“It’s alright Isaac,” Stiles said passively, “Thank you for coming by, I’d be happy to show you more magic tricks anytime you’d like. Feel free to visit whenever.”

Isaac nodded, taking the dismissal without resistance. The Beta slipped off Stiles’ bed and moved softly towards the door, sending the emissary pitying glances whenever possible. He offered one more soft “sorry,” before slipping out the door, presumably to update his pack mates. 

Stiles let his head fall against the wall. Today was just destined to suck, it seemed, despite Isaac’s attempts to lighten it. That was okay, the emissary was used to bad days. 

Exhausted but mind whirling, Stiles snatched pen and paper from the desk and snuggled down into the green armchair. He had a letter to write, and then a much-needed bath awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who got excited there, no, there will not be any Stissac. Sorry ya'll, not my wheelhouse. Thank you so much for reading, remember to comment and kudos! I love getting feedback, and anytime I get questions I do my best to answer them in the storyline. Love ya'll <3


	9. Communication is Restored (Sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters are finally sent out, and Carl makes a reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why tf am I doing this to myself?

BY DECREE OF KING CHRIS ARGENT

DECLARING WAR EXISTS BETWEEN THE STATE OF AMBROISE AND THE STATE OF NOX

BE IT ENACTED BY HIS ROYAL MAJESTY THE KING, UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE ROYAL ADVISOR, HIS RETIRED MAJESTY GERARD ARGENT, 

FIRST: THAT WAR BE, AND THE SAME IS HEREBY, DECLARED TO EXIST, AND HAS EXISTED SINCE THE TWENTY-SECOND DAY OF SEPTEMBER, POST ASCENSION, 1629, ENACTED SAID DAY, BETWEEN THE STATE OF AMBROISE AND THE STATE OF NOX.

SECOND: THAT THE KING OF AMBROISE, HIS MAJESTY KING CHRIS ARGENT, UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE ROYAL ADVISOR HIS RETIRED MAJESTY GERARD ARGENT, BE, AND HEREBY ARE, EMPOWERED TO USE THE ENTIRE LAND AND NAVAL POWERS OF AMBROISE, AND TO CALL INTO THE ACTUAL SERVICE OF AMBROISE THE MILITIA OF ALL TERRITORIES OF THEIR RULE, TO SUCH EXTENT AS MAY BE NECESSARY TO CARRY OUT THIS ACT.

* * *

 

October 13th, 1629

My friend, His Highness King John Stilinski of Beacon,  

            It is with the deepest sorrow that I write to tell you that your son, Crown Prince Mieczyslaw Stilinski of Beacon, was kidnapped on the night of October 12th, by the invading forces of the Hale Kingdom. Know that as we bring this news to you, we too are grieving your son’s loss tremendously, as he was to be mated with Crown Prince Carl Argent of Ambroise. Mieczyslaw has become part of our family during his stay, and we fully intend to retrieve him from his barbaric kidnappers. We urge you to join us in our fight against the State of Nox, who took it upon themselves to declare war on our State unprompted this September, in order to return your son to the arms of his betrothed. 

Condolences, 

His Majesty King Chris Argent

The Royal Argent Family

Carl

* * *

 

BY DECREE OF KING JOHN STILINSKI

DECLARING WAR EXISTS BETWEEN THE STATE OF BEACON AND THE STATE OF NOX

BE IT ENACTED BY HIS ROYAL MAJESTY THE KING, 

FIRST: FOLLOWING THE ILLEGAL AND REPREHENSIBLE KIDNAPPING OF OMEGA CROWN PRINCE MIECZSLAW STILINSKI FROM HIS INTENDED, CROWN PRINCE CARL ARGENT OF AMBROISE, WAR BE, AND THE SAME IS HEREBY, DECLARED TO EXIST, AND HAS EXISTED SINCE THE TWENTIETH DAY OF OCTOBER, 1629, ENACTED SAID DAY, BETWEEN THE STATE OF BEACON AND THE STATE OF NOX.

SECOND: THAT THE KING OF BEACON, HIS MAJESTY KING JOHN STILINSKI, BE, AND HEREBY IS, EMPOWERED TO USE THE ENTIRE LAND AND NAVAL POWERS OF BEACON, AND TO CALL INTO THE ACTUAL SERVICE OF AMBROISE THE MILITIA OF ALL TERRITORIES OF THEIR RULE, TO SUCH EXTENT AS MAY BE NECESSARY TO CARRY OUT THIS ACT.

THIRD: IF, AND ONLY WHEN, CROWN PRINCE MIECZYSLAW STILINSKI IS RETURNED TO THE STATE OF BEACON, HIS MAJESTY JOHN STILINSKI OF BEACON WILL RECONSIDER THE TERMS OF HIS DECLARATION OF WAR. HIS MAJESTYOH-- 

A Note From His Majesty Himself, King John Stilinski 

To the unfortunate bastards who thought it would be a brilliant idea to kidnap my son: There is no shame in just returning him. Your country will not be looked upon as weaker if you do choose that course of action. Myself and every individual who has come into contact with Stiles will understand your decision. 

However, if Stiles is not returned unharmed this war will proceed without delay. 

* * *

  


October 19th, 1629

Dear Stiles,

I am very sorry for accidentally abandoning you to get kidnapped by werewolves. It was a mistake, I was trying to find you but I forgot which room you were in, and then the alarm sounded and I panicked. I promise next time this happens I will make sure to look for you more thoroughly before ~~fleeing~~ ~~retreating~~ exiting the building. 

Also, I was wondering how you felt about alphabetical seating arrangements at our mating?

Love,

~~Carl Argent~~

Crown Prince Carl Argent of Ambroise 

* * *

 

 

October 21st, 1629

Hi Dad! 

Still alive! Right now I’m spending some time with the Hales, reconnecting and such. I should be back home by next month, if everything works out. So, long story short the Argent’s got tired of waiting for me to accept Carl’s courting and decided to make the decision for me. The Hale’s spectacularly timed invasion kept me from a forced mating, and then Derek decided to take his goodwill a step further and bring me to safety on his ship. We are going to need to have a serious sit-down with the Argent family as soon as I get home, so they can explain themselves. I don’t want to worry you, but I’m kind of blanking on everything from the 12th to the 13th. Also, I’m really sorry for not writing to you during all of this, but apparently werewolves don’t bother keeping actual paper on their boats? Also also, in case this happens again I have attached a list of things that I deem considerable ransom demands for my return to simplify any possible future kidnappings.

Love,

Stiles

 

Stiles’ List of Acceptable Ransom Demands

-The Royal Chef’s curly fry recipe

-Professor Harris’s immediate termination (and possibly execution)

-That one really great painting in the throne room

-Beacon’s entire supply of Sticky Buns

-No less than 4 boats

-Several puppies

* * *

 

October 25th, 1629,

Dear Stiles,

I have sent you several letters of varying length and content, but you have yet to respond to any. Are you angry with me? Again, I am very sorry for leaving you at the mercy of the werewolves. It will never happen again.

Love, 

~~Carl~~

~~Carl Argent~~

Crown Prince Carl Argent of Ambroise

* * *

 

October 27th, 1629

Dear Stiles,

I am so glad you are alright. I’m sure by now you’ve heard of Beacon’s declaration of war on Nox, and while I am immeasurably relieved that you are not hurt, the declaration still stands. The council has been debating whether to back Ambroise during this time of uncertainty in their fight against Nox. Your kidnapping solidified their decision to declare war on the Hale’s. With luck, your kinsmen will be sent to retrieve you shortly. If the Hales truly bear you no harm they will allow you to be escorted home.

Concerning your memory loss, I received a letter from the Argents stating they found a chemical-soaked rag on the floor of your bedroom while searching for you. While I want to give the Hale family the benefit of the doubt, especially considering our longstanding friendship with them, they have not been well since Laura’s passing, Derek especially. I received several reports prior to your disappearance describing a state of bloodthirsty rage he descended into on the battlefield. Be careful son, and do not trust what you are told. 

Love,

John

* * *

 

October 27th, 1629

Dear Stiles,

I just realized that all of my letter were addressed to just “Nox Kingdom” instead of “Nox Kingdom Palace”, which explains why you haven’t been responding. I will send another letter soon to the correct location. I am assuming that you’re at the palace, but no one here is really sure, since our mail keeps getting intercepted. I’ve enclosed a list of secure post-office locations you may use for the address of your letters to me. I hope you’re doing well.

Love, 

Crown Prince Carl Argent

* * *

 

October 28th, 1629

Dad,

I was just told that you declared war on Nox? Why? If we should be declaring war on anyone it’s the Argents, their son tried to rape me! I’m finishing up my business here in Nox, so I should be home in two weeks. Please, do not do anything else until I arrive! We have not been communicating well enough for anyone to make decisions right now!

Love,

Stiles

* * *

 

October 31st, 1629

Dear Stiles,

Happy Spooky Day! Somehow most of our post offices were discovered and seized by the Hale’s, so that list I gave you is no good anymore. I’m sending this message by carrier pigeon! How cool is that? Anyway, I’m writing to tell you that we’re marching on Ambroise, so hopefully I’ll be seeing you soon!

Love,

Crown Prince Carl Argent 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll edit this shit show later, but right now this is what's going up. Comment, Kudos, all that jazz


	10. A Blatant Cliffhanger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry about my accidental hiatus, life got crazy. But I'm here now, so let's do this! This was originally meant to be the chapter with the run and mating fight, but I went a little crazy with the build up, and decided to make that a separate chapter. Hopefully I'll update again by the end of the month. Fingers crossed! Also, please read my note at the end of the chapter!

Derek stood at the edge of the forest, ready. 

He had gone over a week without seeing Stiles, forced to keep his distance lest his wolf be tempted to re-establish their faded scent on the Omega. He was done waiting. This was it, after tonight he’d never had to spend another night alone, aching, every part of him pining for his mate. Derek was going to chase Stiles, catch him, pin him, prove once and for all to the stubborn Omega that he was worthy. 

“I hate to break it to you bro, but this isn’t the part of the night you should be excited about,” Cora grumbled, scrunching up her nose.

Derek flipped her off. 

The Beta had arrived, uninvited, at the gates over an hour ago with something to say. Derek wasn’t sure exactly what was on her mind, but until she felt like queuing him in he wasn’t going to ask. 

“You should be in the stands by now,” he reminded his sister firmly. 

Cora shrugged, “The Omega’s not even here yet. Not that anyone would be able to tell, with the way you’re stinking up the place.”

The Alpha growled, “I’m serious Cora, go.”

Cora just glared, feet planted firmly on the ground. For a moment Derek had the urge to tackle her, wrestle her to the ground and force her to submit to his authority…. He shook the thought away.

Cora glared harder, like she had gotten the gist of his thought train somehow and was offended. She had never been one to put up with Derek’s bullshit. 

“Do you seriously want to be this worked up when your  _ mate  _ gets here? You’re going to scare him.”

Low, threatening growls flared up from the Betas as they fed off Derek’s frustration. Cora might be right, if Derek was so amped up he couldn’t hide it from the pack. 

“Try something puppies, I dare you,” Cora hissed.

“ **Enough** !”

The Betas scurried backwards, cowed by the turn in their Alpha’s anger; It was one thing to be angry with the Alpha, but it was quite another to have the Alpha angry at them. 

Cora, however, held her ground. Her eye twitched and her fists clenched, but the Beta refused to budge. Derek wasn’t sure whether he was proud or offended by that.

“Did you tell him?” she asked, stone faced, “Did anybody tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“What this means. What challenging the whole pack  _ actually  _ means.”

“He knows what it means,” Derek growled.

“Oh, does he?” Cora questioned, “So you wouldn’t mind if I just stuck around for a little longer, maybe went over all of it with him before the match?”

Derek could feel his wolf pacing, rising closer to the surface with every veiled threat. Cora was family, yes, but nothing, _ nothing _ , was going to get in the way of him claiming his mate tonight. 

“Leave, now.”

Cora laughed bitterly, “I want you to be happy big brother, but this… this isn’t going to get you there. If Stiles is what you say he is, he’ll never accept the mating if he knows you lied to him.”

“No one is lying to anyone,” Derek asserted.

“Well you sure as shit aren’t telling the truth. What do you think he’s going to do, when you try to mount him after this? Do you think he’s just going to say, ‘okay, Derek won, guess that means we’re perfect for each other, time to make babies’? No. You’ve met him, I’ve met him, he’ll be furious. And angry. And hurt. Are you really willing to do that to him? Is that who you are now Der?” Cora asked.

Derek felt his face heat in embarrassment. Cora’s words were crude, but they had some truth to them. His sister was voicing all the little doubts that had been creeping into his mind, all the reconsiderations and second-guesses that had been bolstered by Isaac’s bizarre behavior and Stiles melancholy over the past week. No,  _ no _ . He would not be talked out of this. This was his fate, he had a  _ right  _ to claim his mate. If not today, Stiles would come around eventually, once he realized their compatibility. 

“Stiles knew what he was getting into when he agreed to this, and it’s his own fault for not asking more questions when he proposed a pack fight. I will do this run, I will win, my pack will accept Stiles as Alpha mate, and then we will mate, plain and simple. So unless you have any more encouragements you’d like to give me, I’m going to have to ask you to go back to the stands, with our mother, who supports this match,” Derek said coldly.

Cora held his gaze for a long moment, searching. Finally, her aggressive posture slipped, fading into something almost close to resignation. Derek could scent her disappointment, bitter in the air, and he forced himself not to feel guilty. 

“If that’s really what you believe.” she said quietly, “I hope this works out like you think it will Der-bear. I just want you to be happy, and I know that’s what Laura would have wanted too.” 

Cora gave the Alpha one last searching look before shrugging and slipping away into the crowd. 

Derek recoiled physically, his scent souring with grief and guilt. His Beta’s whined and paced, unsure how to provide comfort; Derek just waved them off. He made to go after Cora, maybe to apologize, he wasn’t sure, but a loud murmuring erupted from the surrounding crowd, pulling his attention away from his quickly disappearing sister. The royal carriage, Stiles’ carriage, was approaching. Derek glanced back towards the bustling street, desperate to catch a glimpse a Cora’s dark hair, but came up empty. 

The Alpha reluctantly abandoned his search, refocusing his attention on his approaching mate. He was trying to rekindle the energy from earlier, and he could tell the Beta’s were too, but for once Derek found himself struggling to find his wolf. His dead sister’s memory was, understandably, a mood killer. 

As the carriage rolled to a stop, Derek felt a small hand land on his shoulder, “This is your chance Derek, don’t let Cora fuck it up for you.”

Derek nodded, curling his palm around the nape of Erica’s neck in thanks. The Beta nuzzled his hand, giving him a pointed look before stepping back into place behind him. Derek eyed his pack critically. Everything needed to be absolutely perfect, his Beta’s, the run, the arena, the fight, if he wanted Stiles’ approval. His mate didn’t strike him as someone who was easily impressed. 

Stiles glided out of the carriage, lengths of pale, mole-dotted skin on display. The Omega had foregone the traditional wear in favor of loose trousers and a tight, sleeveless tunic; Derek admired the sensibility, even if Stiles would have looked fantastic in the bejeweled ceremonial garbs. 

The Omega strode forward through the throng of werewolves with confidence. He was gorgeous; he knew it, everyone knew it, and crowds would part for him simply by that virtue alone. Somehow, watching his mate, seeing his confidence and his gait and the intensity of his gaze, Derek’s previous concerns fell away. This was what would define his life, this, not the past. He was finally taking action, moving heaven and earth to get the things he wanted. Laura would have been proud of him. 

Stiles strode closer, bare feet making muffled thumps on the cobblestone. He was nearly here, this was it, this was Derek’s-- Stiles disappeared. Derek startled, terror flooding his system, but just as he moved forward Stiles popped back up, looking flustered but unharmed. 

“Cool it Fido, I just tripped,” Stiles groaned, waving off the anxious guard who had leapt forward to help him. 

The human collected himself, brushing off his pants and shaking the tension out of his shoulders before closing the distance between himself and the Alpha. Derek had to fake a cough to keep himself from laughing. 

Stiles took his place beside the Alpha with much less nervousness than

Derek had expected. He could smell the human’s annoyance, his longing, his excitement alongside the ever present scent of magic, but no fear, no trepidation.

“You know, they tried to put me in a dress for this thing? And not even a small dress, a big, heavy dress with a bunch of jewellery. How the hell was I supposed to fight in that?” Stiles grumbled. 

“Well, usually there’s not much actual fighting at these.”

Stiles made an adorable noise of confusion, “Then what’s the point?”

“It was originally created so two wolves could prove their compatibility to each other and the pack. Back then everybody did it naked. Nowadays it’s pretty much just ceremonial, hence the dress. Most people chose courting instead,” Derek explained.

“That’s probably because most people don’t think beating up their mate is an acceptable way of displaying compatibility.”

“That’s not-”

“Alpha Hale, Omega Stilinski, are you ready to begin?” Deaton interrupted. 

Derek nodded, eager to abandon his previous conversation. Stiles questions were, as always, unnervingly intuitive. 

“And you are all right with me overseeing the ceremony instead of your mother?” 

“I’m good with it if you are,” Stiles acquiesced.

Derek nodded.

“Good, then we may begin the official ceremony,” Deaton prompted, “We will start with the traditional transfer of blood. If you could both make an incision of your left palms…”

Stiles held up his hand, and Derek watched in fascinated horror as a small red line appeared, the shallow wound undoubtedly a product of magic. The werewolf swiped a claw over his own palm, chuckling when Stiles grimaced. 

“Now place your palm to the other’s mouth, making sure to ingest some of their blood.”

Stiles scent turned sour, a clear indication of his disgust, but the Omega’s face was smooth as he placed Derek’s hand at his mouth.  _ Strong mate,  _ the wolf purred.

If Derek hadn’t been in the hunting mood earlier, he certainly was now. The gentle suction of Stiles lips against his palm was one hell of a wake up call; the werewolf wasn’t even trying to fight his arousal. He took the Omega’s palm to his lips, lapping at the slow trickle of blood, imaging what it would taste like after the mating bite.

Behind them the Betas moved, restless, feeding off the building tension. Derek grinned ferally as Stiles moved away, smearing his palm against the boy’s lips. Stiles glared, but kept quiet; he would have his chance to shut Derek up soon enough. 

“That will do,” Deaton said stiffly.

Derek just smirked.

“With that done, we move on to the rules of the ceremony. First, once the run begins there is no stopping the ceremony. If anyone wishes to stop the proceedings it will be considered a surrender, and will be viewed as a victory for their opponent. The only time the match will be terminated without a victor is if there is a genuine fear for the safety of one or more of the participants, in which case the result of the match will be left up to the discretion of the Queen. Second, no fighting is to take place until all participants have reached the designated combat zone, which can be found directly north of the run zone. The run zone has been blocked off, so if you get lost you can run in one direction, and follow the wall to the combat zone, which is a flat, sandy circle in plain view of spectators and the royal family. Omega Stilinski will have a five minute head start, after which Alpha Hale and his pack will be released into the arena. Omega Stilinski, you previously stated you did not want any weapons to be available for you in the combat zone. Do you wish to revise your request?”

“No.”

“Alpha Hale, you agreed to include your pack in the run and fight, after consulting with your pack do you wish to revise your request?”

“No.”

“And has your pack agreed, given a favorable outcome, to accept Omega Stilinski as Alpha mate without the usual courting period?”

Derek’s heart caught in his throat. He sneaked a glance at Stiles, who still smelled like disgust but otherwise looked wholly unconcerned. Maybe he wasn’t paying attention…?

“Alpha Hale?” Deaton prompted

“Um, yes,” Derek stuttered. 

Deaton eyed both of them critically, waiting. When Stiles failed to respond, or even look up from where he was drawing circles in the dirt with his toes, the emissary frowned.

“And you, Omega Stilinski, do you wish to still wish to challenge both the Alpha and his pack, with the knowledge that you will be immediately brought into the pack as Alpha mate if the match is looked upon favorably?”

Derek wanted to gut Deaton, shut up the weasley druid once and for all. He was purposely trying to ruin this for Derek, the fucker. 

The Alpha waited with baited breath as Stiles lifted his head to level him with a poisonous glare. Fuck, this was it. Stiles was going to call him out, retract his challenge on the pack and then Derek was going to have to wait forever to claim him. Erebos, he was going to murder Deaton.

“Nope.”

There it wa- what?

“Are you sure?” Deaton needled.

“Yes, he’s sure,” Derek growled. This was Deaton’s last fucking warning…

“I’m sure. Doesn’t matter anyways, since I’m going to win,” Stiles challenged.

Behind them Erica chortled, then let out a squawk of indignation when someone, probably Issac, elbowed her. 

“Then we may begin,” Deaton acquiesced. 

_ Fucking finally, _ Derek thought. 

“Alpha Hale, Omega Stilinski, if you would proceed to the gates.”

Stiles gave Derek a mocking bow, “After you.”

Derek gave the Omega a sarcastic, and rather ungraceful, curtsy before striding off towards the massive oaken gates, his pack close behind him. Stiles gave Deaton a wink as he sauntered by.

~

Stiles was practically vibrating, alight with anticipation. It had been a long time since he sparred, even longer since he was allowed to use his magic in a fight. He missed it, hadn’t been able to just  _ let go _ around the Argents, lest he injure someone and cause an international incident. But Derek had volunteered for this, hell, the Alpha had pushed for this. And now he was going to  _ get it.  _

~

Issac was worried. Derek was much too confident, and Isaac was a thousand percent certain this wasn’t going to end like he thought it would. He had been trying to warn his Alpha all week about Stiles, what the Omega was capable of, but Derek refused to listen, because he was a big stubborn asshole like that.

If by some miracle Derek did manage to win, Issac shuddered to think of what Stiles would do. When they talked the Omega had been adamant that he wouldn’t allow this mating. The Beta had a bad feeling that Stiles wouldn’t accept defeat, even if it meant taking the fight out of the arena, which was, in itself, a terrifying thought. 

Isaac forced himself not to shy away from Stiles as they lined up at the gate. The Omega was pulsing magic, little tendrils of green arching up and away from his body. The sight was slightly terrifying, and a small part of Isaac was screaming “demon”, but he stood his ground. There was no reason to be scared of Stiles, the Omega wouldn’t hurt him. Everything was going to be fine, he reminded himself. Everything was going to be fine. 

~

“Alpha Hale, are you ready?” 

“Yes.”

“Omega Stilinski, are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“May Selene bless you both.”

The gates opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, social experiment time. If you're reading this, please leave a Bill Clinton quote in the comments. Any Bill Clinton quote works, just don't provide any context. I'm trying to figure out how many people actually read the author's notes. Thanks!


	11. I Promised You A Fight, Didn't I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, Derek, and the pack get into a bit of an extra-curricular, and not in the fun way. Well, sort of in the fun way. My version of fun, probably not yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S UP GAMERS! Guess who's still alive! Not Mira, my fish. My cat ate her. RIP Mira, we'll miss you. Anyway, I did a little psuedo-survey last time I posted, and here's what I found: According to my calculations, out of the 959 people who read the last update, 41 commented, and 40 out of 41 made reference to Bill Clinton, meaning only about 23% of readers actually read the author's notes. Or only 23% of people are comfortable commenting. Could be that. Oh, almost forgot! To all those of you who do comment, extra love from me. I love all my readers, y'all keep this story moving, but commenters get a special spot for being brave little beans and putting their thoughts out there where I can see them. That's all!

Stiles was flying

The Earth surged beneath his feet, restless, _alive._ It had been so long since he let himself go like this, and it felt fucking amazing. Magic escaped him in bursts, too much building up in his system at once to stay contained. Around him the trees groaned and bent, reaching for him, for his energy. 

Stiles laughed, arching his body and letting his magic propel him forward. Branches wrapped around his feet, pulling him upwards into the treetops. He fell backwards, letting the trees taking his weight and lift him towards the sky. This, _this_ was what he had been missing all these months in Ambroise. If he closed his eyes Stiles could almost pretend he was back in Beacon, flying along the treetops. 

His matka had taught him how to do this, how to give in and let The Mother guide him. Matka had been more devoted to Mother Earth than anyone else Stiles had ever met; Claudia Stilinski had loved the Earth, and the Earth had loved her right back. The day Claudia died the ground had split, wrapping her body in flower-budded vines as it laid her to rest. Stiles liked to think that his Mom had become a part of the Mother when she passed, that it had been her will too that wrapped his slumped shoulders in poppies while he cried by her grave.

He missed his home, missed the comfort of his father’s embrace, the chaotic beauty of his matka’s flower garden. Ambroise had been cold and formal despite its best efforts, and, for all its beauty, Nox was little more than a gilded cage to Stiles. He had sat too quiet, too cold, for too long, and being back amongst the trees,  his family for all intents and purposes, even in a foreign land, was nearly too much to handle. He felt like a livewire, ready to burst. Clean and calm and alive for the first time in months.

The branches slowed to a crawl before gently depositing him back on the ground, just barely out of sight of the arena. Stiles whispered a quiet thank you, grinning when the leaves swept gently against his face. It was painful, pulling away from the gentle warmth of the forest, but there would be plenty of time for that later Stiles promised himself, bushing a stray leaf off his shoulder. The heaviness that had weighed so heavily on him these past months had dissipated some, and Stiles could see how desperately he needed this reconnection, despite the circumstances. If one good thing came out of this whole disaster, it would be this. 

 _‘It seems I owe Derek once again’_ Stiles mused, too exhilarated to be bitter. 

The arena was exactly how Deaton had described it, a sandy circle about an eighth of a mile wide, flanked by stands full of wolves. Stiles could make out Talia and Ian, their thrones jutting up towards the sky in the dead center of the stands. The Omega could just faintly hear the rustle of underbrush in the distance, Derek and his pack fast approaching. 

“Now or never,” Stiles murmured. 

The emissary strode out of the tree-cover, shoulder’s back and chin high. A daisy chain circlet threaded itself through Stiles hair and the boy knelt down, brushing a hand over the sandy ground in thanks. He had sparred, he had done training drills, but Stiles had never done anything like _this_ before, and to be perfectly honest he was scared. This fight had consequences, Stiles life hung in the balance here. The fear that had escaped him at the gates now took a firm hold. 

The Omega faced the crowd head on, and willed himself not to shake. Stiles could do this- Stiles could _win_ this. He was stronger than wolves, he just had to remember his training- Center first, Observe surroundings, Pull from the core, Monitor energy usage-

A terrible, restless energy shifted beneath the sands, and the Omega froze, petrified. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Was this a part of the ceremony? Stiles wanted to run, fight, scream, do something. The emissary stood motionless, eyes unseeing, as he grappled with the feeling. It was strange and awful and foreign. Intrusive, like it didn’t belong, which made it all the more horrible. This, this, whatever it was, didn’t belong, it wasn’t natural, it was-

Motherfucking supernatural. 

Had Stiles been able to move his face, he would have screamed in frustration. He knew that foreign, not-quite-right feeling, the one that sprung up in his chest during moments of clairvoyance. Spirits had come to him before, spoken to him during times of uncertainty. One had come to him before he embarked on his journey to Ambroise, but it was never like this. It was always a gentle brush against his consciousness, a slight intrusion of emotion. This was not that. This was a veritable attack. This was the strongest connection he had ever had with a spirit, and of course it was happening in the middle of a live combat situation. Of fucking course. 

Mother fucker, Stiles _did not need this right now._ If there was ever a moment he didn’t have time to dissect a vague mystical message, it was now. His mother had always taught him to appreciate what the Other Side was willing to offer, but this was not the time goddamnit! Stiles tried his best to communicate this with whatever very aggressive spirit was bombarding him, to no avail. Communicating with spirits was hard, because they didn’t really say words so much as they projected feelings. It was up to the medium to interpret it, which made two-way communication a real bitch, miscommunication and all. 

“THANK YOU, I’M BUSY NOW, GET BACK TO ME LATER”, Stiles tried.

The spirit ignored him, “SOMETHING’S COMING.”

 Yeah, no shit. That something was probably  290 pounds of teeth and fur, which is why Stiles needed control of his facilities back like yesterday. 

“PLEASE RESPECTFULLY GO THE FUCK AWAY.”

“HOLY SHIT YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE”, the spirit screamed.

Well, that probably wasn’t what the spirit was actually trying to say, but that’s what Stiles was interpreting it as. 

Derek’s pack was breaking through the forest’s edge, and Stiles still didn’t have control of his body. The omega was becoming slightly frantic, a frigid feeling of helplessness descending over him. 

 _No, no, no, no, no, no_ , this was not happening. He was not losing his freedom, his _life,_ because of a shitty bet and a poorly-timed seance. 

“DEATH AND BABIES AND CROSSROADS” the world’s least subtle deliverer of omens screeched. 

The wolves were five feet away, still running.

“I FUCKING GET IT PLEASE GO AWAY YOU’RE GOING TO GET ME KILLED,” Stiles screamed into the spiritual void.

Boyd was a foot away, arm outstretched, ready to grab him…

With one final screech of emotional blunt-force-trauma, the spirit finally, blessedly, departed, just in time for Stiles to backhand the closest werewolf across the face. Boyd stopped in his tracks, stunned and probably a little bit offended, but Erica was close behind, swiping at Stiles with a hand full of claws. Stiles dodged her attack, barely, dancing around Isaac’s halfhearted attempt at a tackle before finding himself staring up into the red-tinted eyes of the Alpha himself. 

“Submit,” Derek growled.

“Go fuck a cactus,” Stiles hissed.

They were off.

~

“Derek certainly made an interesting choice for a mate,” Peter commented, looking down at the grappling pair with furrowed brows.

“That he did,” Talia said mildly.

“And you’re confident this will end well?” Peter asked.

“Absolutely,” Talia reassured him.

The stands shook from the force of impact, and the royal family watched as Derek pried himself out of the damaged panels with a roar. 

“To young love,” Ian proposed, wryly lifting his goblet for a toast. 

“May Jupiter help us all,” Peter muttered, downing the rest of his wine. 

~

Stiles hissed as one of Erica’s swipes hit home, leaving a thin line of red across his upper arm. Derek growled at her in warning, and Stiles growled right back. 

“I thought you said this was a fight, _Alpha_. Or are you just hoping I’ll go easy on you if your betas hold back?” Stiles goaded.

He was rewarded by an ungainly, but powerful, lunge by the Alpha, which Stiles sidestepped with relative ease. Derek growled in annoyance, his face shifting from Beta form to human at random, eyes glowing a deep red. The wolves circled around the Omega, chuffing and tightening their ranks in an effort to corral him. The circle was sloppier than usual, a hole existing where Jackson, who lay unconscious under the bleachers, was supposed to be.  The emissary grimaced, pivoting to keep his eyes on the Alpha. Derek was strong, had good impulses, it was important to keep him within view; the Beta’s would take his lead, they wouldn’t strike unless he allowed them too. 

There were too many opponents in the ring. Stiles would need to take them out one by one, Beta’s first, to have a chance against the Alpha. Isaac’s curly hair caught in the edge of the emissary’s vision, and, thinking of the massive headache Jackson was going to wake up with, Stiles reluctantly shelved any of his more violent game plans. He didn’t want to hurt anyone (more than he already had). Less broken bones would probably mean less hurt feelings later anyways, but he still needed them incapacitated. _Incapacitate, not harm. Incapacitate, not harm_. Casting anything would be too risky, it was likely that the wolves were fast enough to move out of the way. Something more… Stiles thought of the spirit, of the immobilizing touch of it’s consciousness. Yep, that would work. 

~

The Alpha tensed, clearly on to the Omega. His expression went from suspicion to befuddlement when Stiles dropped down, slamming his palm into the earth. The Alpha leapt at its mate, growling furiously when a column of dirt propelled the Omega upwards, higher than he could jump, the surface too smooth to climb. The mate was _getting away._ The Omega’s triumphant face peered over the columns edge, gloating, and Derek growled in warning. _Come down mate, before you get yourself hurt._ The Omega laughed. 

One of his Beta’s reared back, slamming into the side of the column, and the Omega’s face changed from confident to wary. Another hit, this time from the opposite side, and the smooth edges of dirt began to crumble. His mate’s face was twisted in concentration, clearly trying to perform some sort of task, even as his only advantage crumbled beneath him. 

“When he falls, we catch him,” Derek ordered. 

He took a step back, bracing himself, then THUD. He slammed into the column, watching with no little sense of satisfaction as it wobbled, then finally began to collapse, debris sliding off to the side. The Omega toppled forward, free falling towards the ground, but before the Alpha could move his Beta was there, leaping up to grab the human. Boyd and Stiles hit the ground with a muffled groan, Stiles fragiler body cradled by Boyd’s bulk. The Omega immediately scrambled to his feet, giving himself a little shake. 

Derek growled, annoyed that Boyd had relinquished his hold; catching the willy little human was, unsurprisingly, proving difficult. What did surprise Derek, however, was that instead of heeding his warning and going after the Omega Boyd remained motionless, prone in the dirt. Beside him the Omega was performing a strange series of full-body flails complete with noises. A victory dance. 

Stiles caught the Alpha’s gaze, giddily lifting one hand into the air to display his palm, pale skin made stark by the bright red pattern he had traced on his palm, presumably in his own blood; A spell. 

Derek wasn’t sure if he was impressed or pissed off. 

Stiles grinned, all bloody teeth and bravado, and slipped into an attack stance. Derek turned to his pack, warning them just a moment too late: Erica was already moving, leaping over Boyd’s slumped form with a vicious snarl. 

“DON’T LET HIM TOUCH-”

Stiles slammed his palm into Erica’s sternum; she hit the ground in a flurry of blond hair, claws and fangs still extended. She twitched, once, but otherwise made no move to get up.

Everything was moving too fast. Over half of his pack was down, and Derek hadn’t even _touched_ Stiles yet. The mating fight he had envisioned, a fight of glory and seduction and abject dominance (his, of course), was dying before his eyes. 

“Pin his arms, don’t let him touch you.”

Isaac nodded, determination etched across his features, and promptly collapsed. Derek startled, whining as his beta fell face first into the dirt. Somehow, Stiles was standing behind Isaac, cackling and aggressively shaking dirt off his trousers. His whole body was streaked with dirt, little bits of sand falling out of his shirt where it had come untucked from his waistband. How he had managed that, Derek wasn’t sure. Teleportation or some shit probably, it didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was that Stiles looked too drained to do it again, literally swaying from exhaustion even as he bared his teeth in challenge. 

This was Derek’s chance. One of the Omega’s feet was buried in the dirt, keeping him immobile and vulnerable to the Alpha’s lunge. The two went sprawling into the dirt, Derek’s wide form completely covering Stiles’ as they fought. Derek pinned his mate’s forearm to the ground, ignoring the other, non-spelled hand scraping at his shoulders in favor of wrenching Stiles’ head back, exposing his throat. Derek let his fangs fully drop, relishing the way the Omega’s heart raced against his chest. 

 _Like prey,_ his wolf whispered. Derek agreed. 

He stared down at his mate pinned beneath him, relishing the sight for just one more moment, steady even as Stiles’ legs rubbed frantically against his. 

“Mine,” the Alpha growled.

He swooped down, mouth open, teeth against the delicate skin of his mate’s throat,, and froze. His body stiffened like it was made of cement, strong but unyielding. Below him Stiles panted, squirming and struggling to remove himself from the werewolf’s hold. Derek could only watch as his mate wriggled out of his grasp, neck reddened but unbitten, and it was only as the Omega got to his feet that he noticed the little red design painted onto the boy’s ankle. The same ankle Stiles had been rubbing against his leg just seconds ago; clever, so very clever his little mate was. Derek felt a little twinge of admiration bloom amongst his fury.

Stiles staggered to his feet, slowly stepping past the immobilized werewolves, taking care to avoid the section of bleachers Jackson was slowly coming-to beneath. He could hear the kanima’s low groans and muffled curses, most of them directed at the Omega. 

 _Little late there bud,_ Stiles thought smugly. He had won this, fair and square. 

Standing at the center of the ring, arms held wide, the emissary waited for judgement. Talia had risen from her throne with an expression of such concentrated neutrality she may have been watching grass grow, for all she gave away. The crown was silent, waiting, and Stiles was staying on his feet by sheer willpower. After what seemed like an eternity, she nodded, just once. Stiles whooped, pumping his fists in the air. 

“Power move motherfucker!” he shouted, gracing the crowd with an uneven, bastardized attempt at a herkie.

His vision went black about the same time as his feet hit the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, Comment, and Bookmark! I love getting comments, they make my day. Also, if you saw any spelling or grammatical errors please let me know. I don't always catch all of them. (;


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